


The Light in Lonely

by rinnwrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon typical child endangerment, Divorced Hinny, Fluff, Gryffindor Scorpius Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, No Potter children, Professor Harry Potter, Slow Build, Smut adjacent at times, ish, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/pseuds/rinnwrites
Summary: 20 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is happy with his life. His is the longest DADA tenure in decades, he's head of Gryffindor house, his godson is a successful Hogwarts graduate, and he has a calling: to shape young minds. He's definitely not lonely. He has everything he needs. But perhaps he'll find a little more when Scorpius Malfoy lands himself in Gryffindor, and drags his father along for the ride.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Comments: 177
Kudos: 910





	1. The Sorting Hat

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the “Gryffindor!Scorpius” fic. It became the “Harry figuring out how to contribute to the world 20 years post-war” fic. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Also, I finished writing this several weeks ago and i'm not convinced that I've remembered all the tags that need to be added, so I will add as we go. 
> 
> This rating is totally for safety, this is the least blatant “mature” content ever so if you’re looking for that good good, I apologize haha but “smut adjacent” really means just adjacent.
> 
> This guy is finished, I'm planning to post ~twice a week, but I suck at keeping a posting schedule so we'll see. 
> 
> Shoutout to Blue aka This_Time_I_Wont_Regret_My_Username and triggerlil for being amazing cheerleaders!

Tonight marks the 15th time that Harry has attended the welcome feast at Hogwarts. Five times as a student, and after tonight, 10 times as a member of the Hogwarts teaching staff. His 15th feast, and he knows the way this goes like the back of his hand. The first years will enter, equal parts frightened and excited, and listen to the Sorting Hat sing its song.

It’ll place them, the houses will cheer, their ranks will grow.

There’s hardly room for new students at the tables this year. Attendance has been skyrocketing ever since the war, but it’s reached a fever pitch in the great hall tonight. The number of students has increased at least by half in the couple of decades since Harry walked these halls in his Gryffindor tie, his mind plagued with thoughts much darker than a difficult Potions assignment. But such reminiscing has no place tonight. Not the while the upper years chatter and joke, catching up after their summer holidays. A few wave up at him and he can’t help but smile back. 

Returning to Hogwarts has always felt like coming home. His heart swells at the feeling of kinship with each of them as they settle into the warm magic of the castle, and then the doors open, and all eyes shift to the back.

The new class is paraded in, a swarm of nervous energy with Minerva at the helm. He spots Rosie in the crowd and sends her an encouraging smile as he catches her eye. She’ll be Gryffindor, most certainly - he’s yet to meet a Weasley who wasn’t. She smiles back at him, and he has to keep his eyes from shifting to the back of the Hufflepuff table, where he knows a head of cobalt blue hair won’t be sitting (if he’s even still wearing it blue these days...who can keep up with Teddy Lupin and his ever-shifting colors?)

Harry finds himself staging his own internal pep talk, as the sorting moves forward. 

So, Teddy graduated. That’s a good thing. A very good thing. He’s in London now, with Ron and George, starting his own career, his own life. Without Harry. So what if Harry can hardly remember teaching here without the boy he’d raised running around the halls? It’s going to be fine. Great, even. Rosie is here. A godson graduated and a goddaughter enrolled. That’s...poetic, certainly? Not to mention the handful of other Weasleys running around - enough of his nieces and nephews that he can hardly keep track anymore. 

Hogwarts will not feel lonely. Hogwarts is never lonely. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” 

Harry’s shaken from his thoughts to applaud enthusiastically, as a head of house should when a new student joins their ranks. It isn’t until the new Gryffindor sits down and turns Harry’s way that he sees the look of terror. 

It hits him like a punch to the chest: pale angular features, wide grey eyes, and shocking white-blonde hair. If it wasn’t for the baby fat that lingers in his cheeks, Harry would swear he was looking at Draco Malfoy himself. 

It takes another moment or two to sink in. Draco Malfoy’s son has just been sorted into Gryffindor. 

*****

The rest of the feast proceeds without further surprise. Rosie does, in fact, join her family’s house, and is welcomed into a seat next to Roxanne. 

Minerva keeps her speech short and sweet as usual, announcing Flitwick’s retirement, and introducing Dean Thomas as the new Charms professor stepping into his place. The students react with an appropriate level of applause, neck-craning, and murmuring. Dean smiles good naturedly and reclaims his seat, so they can all eat. 

The feast appears and the students’ attention shifts back to their friends, their food, their new housemates. Harry eats a bit mindlessly, ignoring young stares of awe with practiced ease - it does get quite old, you know - and contemplating the idea of his new Gryffindor Malfoy. Scorpio was his name? Scorpion? Likely to be a right little prat, if a first-year Draco was anything to go by. 

“He’s quite unlike his father at that age.” Minerva’s voice cuts off his thoughts, as though she’s been sifting through them herself. 

“I-” 

“Certainly wouldn’t judge the child off hand, no I’d think not.” She responds with a knowing smile. “Curious that he’s ended up in our proud house, however. I find myself all too eager to learn why.” The last bit is whispered, conspiratorial, and Harry can’t help but grin. 

It’s been an interesting decade, becoming colleagues, then friends, with the headmistress. Of course, she still sees through Harry like he’s a 3rd year looking for trouble. 

“I suppose it’s just a matter of time.” He peels his eyes away from the Gryffindor table and looks to Minerva. “Decent summer?”

She hums thoughtfully, “Quite a busy one...Something I’ve meant to speak with you about, in fact.” 

This catches Harry’s attention, and he leans back in his seat to gaze over at her better, a raise of his eyebrow prompting her to continue. 

“You’ll know, of course, that Filius served as my Deputy Headmaster for the last 19 years,” she stated, primly dabbing her mouth with her napkin before finally looking over to meet Harry’s eyes, “You’ll also realize that, with his retirement, the post now sits empty.”

It takes a moment to click. What? Harry realizes what she’s implying but is caught too far off guard to jump in and say something, anything. Him? Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts? 

It’s moments like these that he has to remind himself that he’s approaching 40, that he’s come an extraordinarily long way from 17, when responsibilities beyond his years were constantly thrust upon him. Still, he feels a ghost of panic flaring up in his chest. 

A grounding hand on his shoulder stops his thoughts in their tracks. “I’m not expecting a decision tonight, Professor. Take plenty of time. I ask only that you consider it, you have quite a bit to offer our school.”

With that, she turns from him to address Madam Pomfrey on her other side, and Harry finishes his dinner in contemplation. 

*****

The morning brings the flutter of excitement that always accompanies the first day of classes. Harry enjoys nothing more than teaching his first years their very first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson - it's one of the very few things that gets him out of bed early enough for tea in his quarters, even before breakfast in the Great Hall. 

The morning also brings the flutter of wings as Hermione’s owl swoops in through the window, already open to let the Scottish morning air liven up his quarters. It always takes some time for them to feel lived-in after a summer away. 

Staff quarters at Hogwarts, he’s learned, work similarly to the room of requirement, changing based on the needs of the user. They don’t change each time he needs something, but when he first moved in, they adjusted to his tastes and comforts. 

The result is a cozy space, stone walls and floors softened by rugs and tapestries, decorated in warm golds, with a few accents of crimson and scarlet - a toned down version of the Gryffindor common room, which lives just at the other end of the corridor. His rooms include a bedroom suite with a spacious four-poster bed and a simple wardrobe, separated by a heavy wooden door from the living space, where an overstuffed sofa and armchair sit by the fire, and a small dining table rests near the window, for times when Harry takes his meals in private. 

It’s there on the table that a warm cuppa has appeared as though by...well, magic, and the owl has dropped a letter, before helping itself to the dish of treats at the perch by the window. Harry strokes its head gently as he passes, and settles down at the table to sip his tea and read the letter, penned in handwriting he knows as well as his own. 

> _ Harry, _
> 
> _ Happy start of term, mate! 10 years - bloody DADA curse is sure broken now, yeah? _
> 
> _ Rosie sent us a letter last night before bed, she takes after her mum so much it scares me sometimes… Glad she got Gryffindor, she was right scared about it, even if she wouldn’t say. You’ll look after her, won’t you? _
> 
> _ Teddy’s settling in well enough. Bloke’s already asking around about management at the Hogsmeade shop, I think he thinks it’s subtle...like we don’t all know he’s more interested in how close he can get to Victoire while she finishes school. He’s been a great help in the rush before school started, though...ah, sorry in advance for all the Wheezes you’ll have to confiscate this year - let them have a little fun though, yeah? _
> 
> _ Hermione and Hugo send their love - we’ll visit Hogsmeade soon! _
> 
> _ -Ron _
> 
> _ P.S. What’s all this about Malfoy’s kid in Gryffindor? How the hell did that happen?! Good luck mate, you might need it.  _

  
Harry smiles, shaking his head at Ron’s sentiments as he takes a sip of tea. He consciously reminds himself of Minerva’s words yesterday, not to judge the Malfoy boy before he meets him.

He pointedly ignores the other part of his conversation with the Headmistress, not prepared to pull that string, and certainly not at this hour. Instead he sets the letter aside and picks up the Marauder’s Map, eyes crinkling as he smiles at the note Teddy spellotaped to the front:

> _ Hold on to this for me, will you? (You’ll get more use of it than I will.) _

The Map was a gift for Teddy’s 14th birthday - Harry’s way of helping him learn a little more about his father, to give him a chance to walk Remus’s footsteps. They took the path under the Whomping Willow out to the shack and Harry shared memories of the Marauders he’d known and second-hand stories from their adventures at school. 

Perhaps handing something like that off wasn’t the most responsible of Harry’s choices, but he wanted Teddy to experience the best parts of Hogwarts - and what fun is Hogwarts without a little mischief?

For now, it’s back in Harry’s hands, but he’ll return it to Teddy eventually - hopefully the boy will have a child of his own one day and he can pass it along. It’s a part of his family legacy, after all. 

Harry stands from the table and moves to his trunk, the same one he bought in Diagon Alley at 11 years old. He never finished unpacking his belongings yesterday before the feast, so now he stoops to pull out his teaching robes, charming the wrinkles out and dressing himself quickly. 

His eye is caught by a stack of frames at the top of the open trunk, and with a wistful smile, he removes them, placing them each carefully along the mantle. 

Tonks and Remus, haggard but beaming, a bundle of blankets in their arms - the only picture of Teddy with his parents; Ron, Hermione, Rose, and Hugo, sitting around a picnic basket, joy on their faces and shoulders shaking with laughter from a terrible joke Harry told from behind the camera; a Daily Prophet clipping - Ginny’s first article as Quidditch Correspondent; Teddy again, six years old and sitting atop Harry’s shoulders, looking for all the world like Harry’s own, with messy black hair and bright green eyes; The Order of the Phoenix, in 1980 and 1997, framed side by side.

“Hogwarts is never lonely,” he reminds himself, as he turns away and heads to breakfast. 


	2. The New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the great reception so far, y’all warm my heart <3

It’s early still when Harry makes his way into the Great Hall. A spattering of students sit at their house tables, sipping coffee and munching on toast in varying states of wakefulness. 

Harry spots Dean at the staff table and slides into the seat beside him, ignoring the stack of Gryffindor timetables that appear in a bundle before him.

There will be time yet to distribute those to his students. The Gryffindors are rarely the early rising type, after all. Many of his lot will be staggering in with moments to go before morning classes, and he’ll have to hurry them off to class with little more than a glance at their schedules. He tried fighting it his first few years, but by now he’s accepted it as fact, and gained a little more respect for all the years that Minerva put up with their house. 

“Morning, professor,” Harry greets Dean with a grin, filling a plate with eggs and toast. “Didn’t have the chance to welcome you earlier, congratulations on the post.”

Dean beamed at him. “Thanks, Harry! Big shoes to fill, but I’m quite excited, hard as it is to be away from Seamus and Lottie.”

Harry nods his head with a sympathetic smile. He knows just the feeling of having to leave a loved one behind to teach at Hogwarts from those two years that he only saw Teddy on the weekends, Molly and Andromeda keeping him for months on end while Andi was still alive. He missed him every single day. 

Harry can imagine the similar strain on his friend, missing his daughter and husband in equal measures. “I’m sure Minerva will let you nip home on the weekends here and there,” he encourages. 

Dean and Seamus got married several years back, and Harry attended the wedding along with a handful of their other classmates. It was the kind of thing that made sense to all of them, even if they never would have predicted it back in school. Harry supposes that the two of them finding a way to be honest about how they felt for one another is one of the more wonderful things to come out of the war. 

“If only to ensure the house hasn’t burned down. I’m not quite convinced Lottie’s Pa can fix her breakfast without blowing something up,” Dean’s eyes glitter with mirth and adoration. Harry’s heart aches pleasantly to see the happiness in his old friend’s face...and if that ache is tinged with a hint of jealousy, Harry ignores it. 

“Seamus was always quite skilled with an explosion,” Harry agrees, sipping on his second cup of tea for the morning and gazing fondly at the Gryffindor table where they saw many impressive pyrotechnics through the years. 

They sit for a moment, eating in companionable silence, before Dean glances over at him again, his voice soft, and carefully casual, “What about you then? Seeing anyone these days?” 

Harry smiles tightly. It’s a fair question, but one that he gets from both Molly and Hermione almost relentlessly - even after more than a decade of bachelorhood. “Nah, mate. Dating’s a bit of a nightmare with the Prophet lurking around every corner,” he jokes - the same excuse he’s been using for years. He’s just very private, right? It isn’t at all that he finds the idea of wading through the masses of eligible witches and wizards tedious and futile...right?

He dated in fits and starts after things ended with Ginny, but he could never quite manage to connect with anyone, not in any real or meaningful way. Even 20 years later, the war and his role in it make him feel so othered from the wizarding community at times. He still struggles to build relationships with anyone - at least anyone who wasn't right there with him, in the thick of war. 

After all this time, he’s quite content, isn’t he? He has Teddy, and Ron and Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys and their veritable herd of children! He has his students, the staff - he has  _ Hogwarts _ , and that has always been everything to him, hasn’t it?

“I suppose you’re right, though I always expected to open the paper one day to read some outrageous tale of your courtship with some lucky witch. You’ve got quite a lot on your plate now anyway, especially if you take the deputy position.”

Harry is simultaneously thankful for and confused by the change of subject. “How did you..?”

Dean grins, “You know the rumor mill at Hogwarts. Teachers are even worse than the students, it seems. Did you know that Broadwell is apparently on the run from MACUSA? Something about phoenix eggs….”

“What?!” Harry didn’t know that….though it’s the kind of thing that doesn’t entirely surprise him about the peculiar American woman teaching Care of Magical Creatures these days. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that Dean doesn’t ask whether he’d take the deputy job or not...Harry really doesn’t know what he’d say, if asked.

He’s saved thinking about it further by a glance at his watch, telling him he can’t avoid the Gryffindor timetables and the expectant faces of his students any longer. 

“Have a good first day. Picture Neville’s boggart if you get nervous.” Harry leaves his friend choking out a laugh around a sip of pumpkin juice, and heads to settle the Gryffindor masses with their highly anticipated class schedules.

*****

Creating a curriculum is something Harry never gave enough credit to his assorted teachers for. Having never actually experienced what a cohesive Defense education should be, he spent his first few years casting in the dark, and hoping something stuck. 

Now, he has created a comprehensive series of courses that draw from his own studies, his time leading the DA, fighting a war, and basic Auror training. Even Hermione has admitted to being impressed with what he developed, how he tied theory and practicum together, leading up through OWL and NEWT level material. It was all mapped out by his third year of teaching, honed in his 5th or 6th, and now, well, teaching it is simply old hat. 

One might think it would get dull after a while - Defense isn’t a subject that undergoes much change through the years. Unlike Potions or Herbology, new research and discoveries in defensive spells are rare. Harry, however, still loves every moment of it. And this is the best part: the very first day with a new class of first years. 

It’s Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in his first class of the term. They quite nearly fill up the classroom as they filter in, chattering with their new friends and gazing up at Harry in turns. Rose smiles at him as she pulls out her book, but spares him little more than that before giggling at something the girl beside her is saying.

Soon the awe will wear off and they’ll all gain her level of indifference to hearing a lecture from Harry Potter. But for now, he’ll indulge them. 

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts! I am Professor Potter, and together, we are going to spend the next five years exploring hexes, curses, jinxes and dark creatures, and the ways to prevent, counter, and defend yourselves against them. I think many of you will find this subject to be quite fun at times, though I encourage you to take it very seriously, as you should with all of your classes.”

Harry picks his wand up from the desk at his side and swishes it through the air in a wordless _protego,_ a shimmering shield materializing around him, “You can expect to study the theory and practice of defensive spells,” He flicks his wand again, a giggling Teddy filling his mind as the bright silver-white stag bursts from his wand and draws gasps from several students, “and learn about their very real significance in the history of wizardkind.” 

The stag ambles down between a row of desks before fading to nothing. The students are enraptured enough by his performance that only Harry notices Scorpius Malfoy slipping into the back of the room late, and sitting alone at the very last desk. 

“Now, you’ll spend a bit of time in your History of Magic classes learning about the Second Wizarding War, and we’ll talk a little about it here too, but for today, just today, does anyone have any questions they’d like to ask?”

He’d feel a bit of a wanker for asking, were it not for the 30-odd hands that shoot up in the air in the blink of an eye. 

Harry really doesn’t like to talk about the war. He’s given one interview, once, on the 10th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, but in most cases he avoids the topic all together. In this place, however, this classroom that he associates with finally taking control of his own life? Here he can talk about it. To these students who are young and curious, and maybe a little scared, without ulterior motives, just wanting to know. 

He’ll talk about the war with them. And he does. Answering each of their questions carefully and honestly, more open than he is with most anyone else. It feels like the first part of a bridge with each of these students, to show that he won’t patronize them, that he’s just a person, too. Even by the time their questions die down, he feels a little more level with them. Nearly all of them speak up in some way as they talk through the class period. 

Notably, Scorpius is one of the few that doesn’t. In fact, Harry isn’t sure the boy has spoken a word since he stepped off the train. 

“Rosie, can you hang back for a moment?” 

Rose’s cheeks flush heavily enough to tinge even her dark skin a rosy pink, but she stays as her new friends file out of the room, letting out an annoyed and embarrassed “Harrrry,” almost painfully reminiscent of an 11 year old Hermione.

“Sorry, Rose, not Rosie. I got it.” He tries not to laugh at her annoyance and moves to her desk, resting his hip against the wooden surface. “Listen, have you spoken to Scorpius Malfoy?”

Her freckled nose scrunches up as she shakes her head, “Dad said to be careful of him. Mum said to be nice….but I haven’t talked to him. I don’t think he talks at all. He’s a little weird.”

“Rosie,” he scolds gently, “I thought your mum told you to be nice.” 

She shrugs but looks appropriately abashed, and Harry sends her on her way, with a reminder that his door’s open, should she need him. 


	3. The Girls' Bathroom

Fall term moves along, just like any other year. The weather cools, and the students settle into a routine. Very little out of the ordinary occurs at Hogwarts these days - ordinary being a relative term. 

Rose has ingratiated herself with a group of first year Gryffindor girls, they’re all close friends for now. He knows from experience that young girls don’t tend to stay in such large groups of friends after a few years in school, but he’ll take the peace where he can get it. 

Dean is a hit with the students. Since calling Harry in to help adjust the elevated podium in his classroom, the new Charms teacher has hit his stride and proven in a few short weeks to be an effective teacher. Much like his predecessor, Dean is a gifted dueller, and his proficiency in Charms comes as no surprise to Harry, who taught Dean to cast a patronus when they were only 15. 

Minerva, for her part, hasn’t mentioned the Deputy Headmaster position again, to Harry’s great relief. She has, however, been giving him a certain look when they pass in the hallway. A look that says, ‘ _Look how very right I am!_ ’ without saying a word. This look is particularly pointed when Harry is in conversation with one of the handful of students he’s taken under his wing. 

One such student is Charis Hadley, a seventh year Gryffindor, and captain of the Quidditch team. She’s also muggleborn, and, as Harry learned back in her first year, not truly welcome in her parents’ home. 

He discovered in bits and pieces that year that her family is very religious, that they see her magic as a curse on their family, and her acceptance of it as a willful rejection of their belief system. They’d believed her childhood magic flares to be the work of demons and had even submitted her to an exorcism before Minerva had shown up to explain that she was a witch. 

Memories of summers at the Dursleys’ drew Harry to keep careful watch over her back then, and he went out of his way to mentor her through her transition to the wizarding world, offering her a door that was always open, and what solidarity he could with her situation at home. 

Back then she was timid and often morose, she spent quite a bit of time working through the (metaphorical) demons instilled in her by her upbringing, coming to terms with who and what she is. Now, she’s grinning radiantly at him in the middle of the entrance hall, dressed head to toe in quidditch gear and bubbling with nervous excitement. 

Harry grins back. “Good luck today. You’ll do great. Your team is behind you, you’ve built a good one, you’ve practised like crazy.” 

She nods breathlessly, “Thanks, professor. Any advice?”

“Ravenclaw’s got a new seeker, he’s not very fast, but their beaters are top notch distracting. Don’t let them shake your concentration.”

Charis laughs, “Tell me something I don’t know.” 

Harry laughs too, shaking his head and marveling at her confidence. The way she carries herself is worlds away from the 11 year old girl he once knew, and his heart warms to think he’s had a hand in it. He claps her on the shoulder. “Give ‘em hell, I’ll be there to cheer you on.”

They part ways, and he just barely catches the fond “Something I _don’t_ know, professor,” that she throws back at him. 

He chuckles and heads into the hall for breakfast before today’s festivities. 

*****

Harry is right on track to be late for brooms up as he winds his Gryffindor scarf around his neck. He supposes it would be good to at least look impartial, but as Gryffindor’s head of house, he usually tries to get away with wearing a piece of his old school gear - it’ll always be his team, after all. 

It’s habit that makes him glance at the map spread across his table before he leaves. The castle is nearly cleared out with everyone down at the pitch for the match. A few students linger in the library and the Great Hall, but not many. The rest of the rooms and corridors are emp-

Empty...save for one soul, tucked into a corner in the second-floor girls’ bathroom. Curious, Harry takes a closer look, surprised to see the name Scorpius Malfoy. A pang of worry and nausea runs through him, but he refuses to think about his previous experience with Malfoys in bathrooms as he jogs towards the second floor.

Myrtle greets Harry as he walks through the door, his eyes already quickly scanning the room to find Scorpius on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. He appears shocked to see Harry, but otherwise unharmed. _At least he’s not bleeding_ , Harry’s mind supplies, unhelpfully. 

“Hullo, Harry!” Myrtle’s cloying voice blares loudly, far too close to Harry’s ear, and he offers her a tight smile. “I haven’t seen you around lately, sworn off making mischief in the lavatories?” She sounds simultaneously petulant and predatory, in the way only a bathroom-dwelling eternal fourteen-year-old can. “I miss your visits.”

Harry reflexively ducks away from her hand as she reaches out to him. “I’ve been a little busy Myrtle, sorry about that.” He does feel bad for the ghost, knowing her story and what Voldemort did to her because of her muggle parents. He tries to keep her company now and then, with the added benefit of relieving unsuspecting students of her antics, and ensuring she doesn’t turn up uninvited in the shower in his quarters...again.

“I get very lonely you know, even the ones that come to _my_ bathroom don’t want to talk to me,” she glares at Scorpius, who is still staring at them both like a deer in wandlight. 

Harry clears his throat and nods sympathetically, “Why don’t you let me talk with Scorpius for a bit, and I’ll come visit you tomorrow afternoon? You can tell me all about what you think of the new students.” 

Myrtle looks positively smitten with this idea, nodding and giggling as she floats right through him and then the wall, leaving Harry alone with Scorpius. 

With a soft sigh, Harry makes his way over to the boy, whose gaze has fallen back to his shoes, shiny and black and perfectly polished. Harry presses his back to the wall and slides down to sit on the bathroom floor next to his student. 

“Not interested in the Quidditch match?” He asks quietly, not particularly expecting an answer. Scorpius shakes his head, and Harry takes that as a sign to continue trying to talk to him. “It’s not for everyone, gets a little too loud and crazy in the stands, I think. Can be a stressful sport to watch.”

They sit in silence for a moment or two, Scorpius fiddling with the hem of his robes while Harry surreptitiously watches from the corner of his eye. 

“The lavatory is an interesting place to hang out. Did you know Myrtle lives here? Or maybe _lives_ isn’t the proper word for it….I met her myself just here, when I was in my second year. She flooded the corridor all the time back then. I think my visiting with her has helped her moods a little bit. She’s a nice girl, if you talk to her - just lonely. Everyone wants to have friends.”

Harry rambles on, and eventually Scorpius stops fidgeting, cluing Harry in that he’s listening. 

“I met my best friends in my very first year at Hogwarts, you know. They were Gryffindors too, like me and you.” Scorpius flinches at this, but Harry carries on, pretending not to notice. 

“One time, in this very bathroom, we brewed a Polyjuice potion - well, Hermione brewed it, Ron and I rather just got in her way, probably - anyway, we did it to turn into a couple of our Slytherin classmates and sneak into their common room. Stuff tasted terrible, and felt even worse. Don’t recommend it, Polyjuice. Especially not at twelve.”

Scorpius has looked up now, and is staring at Harry, grey eyes wide and alarmed, “You really did that?”

Harry smiles, “We really did. It was a terrible idea. It’s rarely a good idea to try to be someone else. We weren’t Slytherins, and we didn’t belong there…” he trailed off, gazing at Scorpius with an open face, wondering if his assumption about Scorpius’s discomfort was accurate. 

A long silence follows, before Scorpius finally speaks to his shoes, “I don’t belong anywhere.” 

A beat passes, then two, a leaky sink drips in the quiet, and Harry turns his body to face Scorpius, legs crossed on the cold stone floor. “What makes you say that?”

Scorpius gazes into the middle distance with watery eyes, like he’s seeing something that isn’t there. “I’m...supposed to be in Slytherin, but the Slytherins don’t want me because I’m really a Gryffindor, but I- I _can’t_ be a Gryffindor, I’m a Ma-” with great effort, Scorpius silences himself, like the words want to come out but he’s clinging to them as tightly as he can. 

“A Malfoy?” Harry prompts gently. 

A tearful sniffle, a nod. “Malfoys are supposed to be Slytherins. Grandfather says that every Malfoy there’s ever been has been a Slytherin. An- and Grandmother says that I need to be friends with the other pureblood kids, and they’re all Slytherins too.”

Hearing those sentiments, Harry can imagine them coming from Lucius and Narcissa’s mouths, the pair of them lecturing this boy on how to live his life, even as just a child.

“What does your father say?” The question is out before Harry can decide if he really wants to ask it. He doesn’t know why the answer makes him so nervous. 

Scorpius wipes his face with his robe sleeve and meets Harry’s gaze again, “He says it doesn’t matter what house you’re in, it only matters what you do once you get there.” The words come out in a way that is tellingly rote; Scorpius has obviously heard them time and again. Harry can’t help the surprise that bubbles up in his chest - maybe Malfoy was trying to do better with his kid than his parents had. 

“He’s right about that. Your house doesn’t define you. It gives you a place to be yourself, and that’s the most important thing. You _do_ belong, Scorpius. You have magic in you, and that’s all it takes to belong here. I think if you give the Gryffindors a chance, you might find that they think so too.” 

“What if they don’t?” The dread in his tone breaks Harry’s heart all over again. 

“Then they won’t deserve you, and there are plenty of other friends out there to make. For what it’s worth though, I think your housemates will like you once they get to know you...and you’ve always got me, if you need someone to talk to.”

Scorpius nods at that, and Harry can see that his eyes have dried. 

“What do you say we head out to the Quidditch pitch?” he glances around the bathroom and lowers his voice “before Myrtle comes back.” 

The little laugh he’s rewarded with sends Harry’s spirits higher than any broomstick could.


	4. The Three Broomsticks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I'd post twice a week? That was a lie. Apparently I post every other day....

The second Hogsmeade weekend rolls around just as the first snowfall of the season covers the grounds. Harry managed to get out of chaperone duty last time, but today he’s to be in Hogsmeade all day, keeping an eye out as the students flood the village en mass to stock up on sweets and Wheezes, or have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks.

Harry, like many of the students, makes his way directly to the cheery orange and purple facade of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and is downright giddy as he pushes the door open. 

It’s a zoo inside, but Harry’s familiar with the layout and picks his way through the shop to reach the back room and slip inside. He hardly has a moment to breathe before he’s got an armful of  _ person _ and a faceful of emerald hair. 

“I’ve missed you,” Teddy whispers into his neck.

Harry’s heart swells, and it feels, for a moment, like a weight is gone from his shoulders, one he didn’t even know he was carrying. He wraps his arms around his godson and squeezes him tightly, willing himself not to be sappy, not to be too relieved that Teddy missed him as much as he missed his boy. 

“Should I take a picture? Or do you two want the room?” 

Teddy pulls away all too soon to throw a very rude hand gesture at Ron, and Harry is torn between the urge to scold him like a parent or laugh like a friend.

“Oi, did you see that?” Ron’s outrage just barely rings false, and he makes his way through a maze of boxes to hug Harry in turn. “A menace, this one. And to think, we’re putting him in charge of this place.” 

“He’s going to be brilliant.” Harry declares proudly, ruffling Teddy’s green hair and smiling cheekily at him as the boy ducks away to smooth it out again. He looks between Teddy, Ron, and the mess of boxes surrounding them, “You two up for a break? Butterbeers on me?”

“Offering to buy the drinks is only a gesture if you’re actually going to pay for them, you know.” Ron grumbles goodnaturedly before marking down a number on his clipboard and tossing it aside. 

“Fine, then you can get them,” Harry shoots back with a grin, already turning back towards the public side of the store. They all know that Rosmerta would never ask either of them to pay for a drink for the rest of their lives. Saving the world comes with a few perks - this is one that Harry doesn’t particularly mind...even if he always tips enough to cover his ‘free’ drink anyway. 

They leave the chaos of the storefront and trudge through the light snow to the Three Broomsticks, chatting happily about Teddy’s training, and his search for a place to live here in the village. Harry is more pleased than he should be that his godson wants to be so close, even if it’s not as much about Harry as it is a certain blonde Weasley. 

The pub is already bustling with students by the time they settle at a corner table with their drinks (‘on the house!’). “How’re things then, mate?” Harry directs his question to Ron, having checked in only briefly via owl over the past couple months. 

Ron nods, rocking his chair up onto it’s back two legs and stretching his arms out. “Things are good. Plenty of work to be done at the shops, here and in London. Mione’s busy as always, you know her. The whispers have started that she could be up for minister in the next few years so she’s at the Ministry day and night these days,” he tries to sound annoyed, but the pride in his face ruins the effect. “Still strange without Rosie about, but Hugo makes up for it. Mum reckons his penchant for trouble rivals the twins put together at his age. Been trying to keep him occupied at the shop in Diagon, I love the kid, but he’s a bloody menace.” Ron pulls a face and Harry and Teddy both laugh. 

“Give it another year or so and he’ll be Harry’s problem instead,” Teddy offers, a wicked grin on his face, “Merlin knows the mischief he’ll be able to cause at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe he’ll end up in another house,” Harry suggests innocently, holding his hands up in surrender at Ron’s answering glare. Ron doesn’t  _ really  _ care what house his children are in, Harry knows that, but loving them no matter what doesn’t mean a man can’t  _ hope _ that his children follow in his footsteps. Teddy was in Hufflepuff, and Harry can’t deny that it was the best place for him - endlessly patient and fair - even if having another Gryffindor in the family would have been fun. 

They chat for a while longer; about Hugo and houses, and the pranks that Teddy pulled in school. (Pranks that got blamed on other people because ‘no one suspects a Hufflepuff!’) A few students stop by the table to say hello now and again, and at one point, Harry even gets to experience one of his favorite post-war perks: Hogwarts students ignoring him to be star-struck over Ron. It’s brilliantly poetic, and Harry will never get tired of the look on his best mate’s face when a 12 year old kid gets excited to meet  _ The  _ Ron Weasley. What a life....

“So Teddy, how is Victorie?” Harry asks as Ron’s admirer departs. He and Ron both grin and look at Teddy expectantly. 

It’s so pure, the way Teddy’s eyes go soft when he thinks about his girlfriend. Teddy flushes under their combined gaze and tries to shrug nonchalantly, but his hair gives him away, fading from rich emerald green to muddy brown, then a soft pinkish strawberry blonde. It’s the most peculiar thing but it happens every time - and every time, they give him shit about it. 

“She’s great,” he says happily, “she isn’t taking a lot of NEWTs, since she plans to start her own business after school. Her line of cosmetic potions and spells is coming along and she’s already been talking to  _ Witch Weekly  _ about some advertising.”

Harry thinks that’s brilliant. He’s missed having her in his classes, but it’s impressive what she’s already accomplished at 17. He’s about to say so when he catches the pointed look Ron is giving Teddy.

“And?”

Teddy grins, “and I’m meeting up with her later to look at a little cottage down the road.” He speaks very quickly, clearly nervous to admit this to his godfather, but Harry catches every word and he smiles brightly.

“That’s brilliant, Ted. So you’ve asked her to live with you after school?”

A small nod, and a shy smile into his nearly empty drink.

“Oh don’t be shy about it now. You’ve been waxing poetic all day about how she’s  _ ‘the one,’ _ and all!” Ron’s tone is light and teasing, but Teddy scowls, avoiding both of their eyes. 

“I didn’t say that.”

Harry and Ron share a concerned look, silently agreeing that they are most definitely going to pry into this sudden shift in mood. 

“Well isn’t she?” Harry asks openly. 

Teddy looks between them and back down at the table, then shrugs. When he only gets silence from the pair he lets out a sigh, “I’d like to think so but...how am I supposed to know? I know they say ‘you just know’ but what if I just  _ think _ I know, and I’m wrong?”

The  _ ‘like Harry and Ginny were wrong’ _ isn’t voiced, but it’s there. 

“Merlin help me if I sound like my wife right now, but I don’t think you do  _ ‘just  _ know.’” Ron answers seriously, “You know because you find out, you learn it as you go, in the little things, here and there. You’ve already done that part, mate - anybody can see that. Now,...you live your lives together, and you decide if you  _ want  _ it, and you work to make each other happy, in all the moments that are hard and all the ones that are easy.” Harry wonders sometimes when his best friend became so wise. 

Teddy’s eyebrows knit together as he listens, and when Ron falls silent he looks thoughtful, like he has something to say but isn’t sure how to phrase it. “What if I want it...and she does too...but it still doesn’t work.” 

The way he glances up at Harry is telling, and Harry sighs, long and slow before addressing the question that Teddy had really wanted to ask.

“Ginny and I did want it. And we could have done it. We could have stayed married, and made compromises, but we loved each other enough not to. The hard work for us was accepting that we’d be happier apart.” 

The topic of Harry and Ginny’s divorce has come up with Teddy in the past - of course it has, after 18 years of living together - but never in this way; never with Teddy worried about making the same mistakes they did. “But things were different for us than they are for you and Victoire. We were fighting a war in the years that we should have been learning about each other - in the end we didn’t know each other well enough to make a commitment as young as we did. It was just...hard not to get caught up in all of the things we were feeling back then.”

Harry proposed to Ginny that first Christmas after the war was over. They were so madly in love at the time, and riding so high on the idea that love could conquer absolutely everything. Everyone had expected it, no one had questioned it, and they’d been married in Godric's Hollow when Harry was only nineteen. Their marriage lasted four short years. Teddy wasn’t even six years old before they went their separate ways, and it has been just Harry and Teddy ever since. 

The trio falls into a thoughtful silence, Harry and Ron contemplating how things have changed over the years, and Teddy cataloging all the ways that he knows Victorie better than he knows himself. 

Eventually, Ron is the one to break their reverie, “I hate to break it to you, Ted, but ‘ _ the one’ _ or not, my experience with Weasley women is they don’t like to be kept waiting.” 

Teddy starts at that, and looks down at his watch. “Buggering fuck, I’m late” he mutters under his breath. 

“Theodore Lupin, watch your mouth.” Harry scolds, as Ron busts out laughing. They both watch Teddy run for the door, calling thanks and goodbye over his shoulder as he goes. 

Ron looks to Harry with a hint of concern in his face and Harry heads him off, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, always are, aren’t you?” He laughs, but doesn’t let the topic slide, “It’s just, I know you’ve not talked much to Teddy about why you and Gin split.” 

They’d been vague about it with most people, even the large majority of the Weasley clan. ‘Things just aren’t working out,’ or ‘They rushed into it and want different things,’ were the lines everyone got, everyone save for Ron, Hermione, Molly, and Arther. Most of the family, Teddy especially, didn’t need to know the nitty gritty of their divorce, only that no one was to blame, and that Harry and Ginny were still good friends. 

“No, I haven’t. I didn’t realize he’d worry about something like that.” he admits, wondering for a single second if he should have been more open with his godson, but deciding that he is right to keep some things to himself. “I am fine, though. I’m glad we talked about it.”

Ron nods, accepting Harry’s words at face value, but narrows his eyes after a moment, “You’ve got something else on your mind though,” he points out studiously. It’s a little scary how perceptive Ron has become after 15 years married to Hermione. “Spill it, then.”

Harry sighs. He was going to keep Minerva’s job offer to himself until he had a little more time to consider it, but he’s always done his best thinking with the help of Ron and Hermione. “Minerva’s asked me to consider taking the vacant Deputy Headmaster post.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron’s eyebrows rocket skyward, “that’s huge Harry!” He’s grinning, “Of course that means when the old bat finally retires you’ll be the obvious choice for Headmaster.” 

That thought sends an icy chill down Harry’s back...he hadn’t really considered that. “Right…” he says, nodding and taking a sip from his glass. “Headmaster.” 

Ron hums thoughtfully, “Is that something that you’d want?”

“I don’t know.”


	5. The Cursed Child

Mid-December finds Harry in his office more often than not. It’s one of the rare times that the assignments he’s set for his assorted classes pile up and overwhelm him - every year it happens, and every year he keeps his schedule the same.

Harry acknowledges that he brings the onslaught of marking upon himself. 

That doesn’t mean, however, that he won’t grasp onto each and every opportunity to procrastinate that comes his way...which is what brings him to the staff lounge, and a pair of big squishy armchairs by the fire where Dean sits, reading what looks like a letter. 

A soft grin lights up the Charms teacher’s face, and Harry gazes into the fire as Dean finishes the letter. 

“Lottie’s taken after her Pa a little more than I’d hoped,” he finally says, setting the letter aside, his eyes filled with joy and a very slight melancholy. It must be hard to be away from her. Harry recalls again how tough it was to leave Teddy for the first couple years he taught. It only got easier when Teddy came to Hogwarts too, and Dean has a few years yet before his daughter can join him here. 

“Blown something up, has she?” he asks with a grin, earning a chuckle from Dean. 

“Not this time. Just can’t seem to shut her gob. Told a bunch of muggles all about her daddies being wizards. That’s what we get for sending her to muggle primary school.” 

The trend has become much more common among muggleborn and half-blood parents in recent years: sending their children to school where they can learn to understand their muggle heritage before attending Hogwarts. It’s unsurprising that Dean and Seamus elected to do so, since both of them were raised with muggle influences as children. Harry wonders sometimes if he should have sent Teddy, but his separation anxiety in those early years after the war was too intense, particularly when he was still hunting Death Eaters every day at work.

“I bet you’re eager to get back to them over the break.” 

Dean nods, that soft smile on his face again, “I’ve missed them more than I could have imagined, fires and all,” a fond chuckle fills the quiet room. “You going back to London for the hols, then?”

“Nah. Never do.” Since Teddy’s first year, Harry has made a habit of signing on to stay in the castle over Christmas. The students that stay need some supervision, and there's little that Harry has ever loved more than Christmas at Hogwarts - particularly compared to returning to Grimmauld. “I’ve taken to hosting the Christmas feast for all the students that stay. Lot of them don’t have great homes to go to, better they can celebrate here, where they feel wanted.” Harry knows a little too intimately how that feels, the least he can do is help offer his students something that meant so much to him when he was in their place. 

Dean smiles, “That’s lovely, Harry. I’m surprised Molly Weasley lets you get away with missing Christmas, though.”

Harry barks out a laugh, “Oh, don’t worry, she’d have my hide if I didn’t turn up for lunch with the family. We’ve worked out a routine over the years.” 

It’s then that a silvery cat bounds into the room, leaping up to perch on the arm of Harry’s chair before speaking in Minerva’s voice, “Professor Potter, please report to the hospital wing immediately.” 

Concern clouds his features as the patronus fades, and he’s on his feet in an instant, “Duty calls, then,” he murmurs to Dean before heading from the room, willing himself to tamp down the panic brewing in his chest until he knows the situation.

When he arrives at the hospital wing, it’s nearly empty, with just one girl sleeping soundly in a bed by the door, and a flurry of activity at the far end, a white privacy partition blocking his view. 

Harry hurries to where Minerva stands a careful distance away, giving Pomfrey the space to tend to the student in the bed there. He hears the pained whimpers before he reaches the bed, aborted noises of agony, and then he sees the student. 

Scorpius Malfoy lay on the bed, his back arched in pain, and his eyes squeezed closed. The air leaves his lungs like a punch to the gut, and Harry turns to Minerva, “What happened?”

The headmistress turns pained eyes on him, “A cursed stone. Slipped into his bag, we believe. It has been secured in my office for now. I would like you to examine it later, call in any ministry contacts you need.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees distantly, preoccupied with the way that Scorpius’s whole body is contracted in pain, seemingly unaffected by the warm orange light of the spell Pomfrey is murmuring over him. “We’ll need to contact his father.”

“I’ve sent him a patronus already, he’ll likely be here any moment.” Harry is surprised to hear Pomfrey chime in, but his confusion is set aside as the sound of the floo activating in Pomfrey’s office alerts them to an incoming visitor. 

A moment later, Draco Malfoy sweeps in, a nebulous wave of terror and lime green healer’s robes. He bypasses both Harry and Minerva, stepping right up to the bedside, fists clenched as he actively fights the urge to reach out and touch his son. 

Harry dimly wonders if he knew that Malfoy worked for St. Mungo’s. He comes up blank. 

“What can I do, Poppy?” His voice is surprisingly calm. He’s pulling out his wand and pushing back his sleeves as though to join her incantations when she looks up at him for a fraction of a second, her face stern enough to give pause to Voldemort himself. 

“You will do nothing, Healer Malfoy. This boy is your son, not your patient.”

Harry expects Malfoy to fight back, to argue, anything. Anything other than narrow his eyes and take a step back, tucking his wand away. His left hand still balled into a tight fist is the only sign of resistance to the matron’s words. 

The moments that follow are tense and quiet, broken only by the crackle of Pomfrey’s magic and the thankfully fading whimpers from Scorpius, each of which seem to set his father further and further on edge. 

And then quite suddenly, it stops. Scorpius’s body relaxes, Pomfrey sags in relief and exhaustion, and Malfoy lets out a sound that Harry would call a sob, if he didn’t know any better. 

Pomfrey offers a nod that Malfoy seems to understand explicitly, and he finally reaches out to his child. Harry watches in dull fascination as this grown-up version of his childhood rival collapses in relief at his son’s bedside, long, shaking fingers reaching out to card through platinum hair. 

“He’s going to be okay.” Pomfrey’s voice is soft, a combination of the atmosphere in the room and her own fatigue from fighting the curse. “I’ve seen this particular curse before, he’ll sleep for a time, and when he wakes he will be sore and weak. I’d like to keep him here until he recovers fully.”

Malfoy seems to accept this, nodding and conjuring up a chair to settle in by Scorpius’s bed. 

Pomfrey turns towards her office, muttering something about measuring a dose of pain potion for when he wakes, and leaving.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Minerva addresses her former student, stepping closer to the bed, “I assure you that we will get to the bottom of this. An investigation will be conducted at once, and the perpetrators will see consequences commensurate with the gravity of their actions.”

When Malfoy nods gratefully at her, the headmistress turns to Harry and speaks quietly, “If you would, please see to Poppy - this kind of magic takes a toll - then join me in my office. I’ll contact the Ministry about the stone.”

Harry nods, “Ask for Flannery, she’s a curse-breaker with DMLE.”

With a curt nod, Minerva sweeps out of the room, leaving Harry in the quiet with Malfoy, who is clinging tightly to Scorpuis’s hand, but looking warily up at his old rival. They regard each other with a tired tension, one that feels worn and outdated. Years have passed - decades, even - is there really any benefit to clinging to a drama that has long played out?

“When I learned that Scor was sorted to Gryffindor I told him to embrace it.” The words shock Harry for more than just the sudden break they cause in the silence. Malfoy’s gaze shifts back to his son, fingers tenderly pushing hair away from his face, fierce but gentle love in each gesture. Harry could convince himself that he imagined him speaking, until he does again. “Had I connected that you were his head of house, I might have been more reserved in doing so.”

There’s no malice in his voice. Instead, a hint of...amusement? ...Teasing, lingers there. Harry grabs at the opportunity this presents in the only way he knows how. “Yes, well, imagine my shock to see your miniature sitting in my classroom with a red and gold tie on.”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth ticks up, even as he tries to scowl. In that moment Harry feels something shift. An uneasy peace forms. 

Perhaps they are no longer rivals, or enemies, maybe now they are just a teacher and a parent. Men who have changed enough from when they knew one another that their history is irrelevant. Right now, this young boy in a hospital bed, he is what is relevant. 

Pomfrey chooses that moment to return with a couple vials of potion. She sets them on the bedside table before looking at Malfoy, “If I know you at all, Draco, there’s no sense telling you to leave, so you can see that he gets his potions. One when he wakes, and the other when the pain starts again, but not-”

“Not sooner than six hours, I’m aware.” Malfoy’s friendly tone with the matron is nearly as shocking as the fact that she allows him to interrupt her without scolding. “Please rest, Poppy. Thank you for looking out for him.” 

It’s strange to see Malfoy so open and genuine, Harry feels as though he’s imposing on something private. “Madam Pomfrey, the Headmist-”

“You’ll tell the Headmistress that I am quite alright, thank you. I’m off to rest now, and the young Mr. Malfoy is in the best care possible.”

Harry takes her at her word, mostly because she’s already walking away before he can respond, but also because he believes her assessment. He turns to leave, himself, planning to join Minverva in her office to inspect the cursed stone, but Malfoy’s voice stops him. 

“Potter,” he looks pained, but by annoyance rather than worry, “thank you.”

Harry’s eyebrows skyrocket at that, but he shrugs, glancing back. “I’ve not done anything.”

“Scorpius...he’s struggled to adjust. He talks to me, but I can’t be here...He told me you’ve helped him.”

A beat of silence. Two. 

“Malfoy…” Harry turns to look at him fully, brows furrowed, “our history aside, I am looking out for him.” He gazes at the boy, now sleeping peacefully, “I’m just sorry I haven’t done a better job of it so far.”

Malfoy says nothing to that, only looking back down at Scorpius. 

Harry watches for a moment, then leaves.


	6. The Winter Holidays

The weirdness of seeing adult Malfoy in Hogwarts doesn’t wane...because Malfoy doesn’t  _ leave _ . Or at least, it seems that way. 

Harry spends the days following Scorpius’s attack analyzing the stone that afflicted him, which he’s been able to identify - with some assistance from his old Auror contacts - as an heirloom, with ties to at least four pureblood families. All four of which had both Death Eater connections as well as children currently at Hogwarts. They’d reached a bit of a standstill until they could trace the stone further, a job now assigned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

In between consulting on the case, and finishing his marking for the fall term, Harry makes a point to stop by the hospital wing to visit Scorpius. More often than not, Malfoy is there too. 

Sometimes he’s simply sitting with Scorpius (who is now awake, and oddly chipper about the fact that he’ll be spending the holidays at Hogwarts). Other times, he can be found assisting Pomfrey, tending wounds or measuring doses, a careful eye on his own child all the while. 

Harry learns from Minerva that Malfoy apprenticed under Pomfrey for a time when he was still a healer in training. She was one of the few healers willing to take him on without care for his reputation and they developed quite a bond - as is evident in their every interaction. 

Apparently Malfoy enjoyed the experience, as he now works in the children’s ward at St. Mungo’s - and is Pomfrey’s main contact there.

Today, Harry walks in to see Malfoy teaching Scorpius to animate a paper crane, the carefully folded parchment fluttering abortively under the gust of the charm, until a successful cast finally sends it flitting about the room. 

The students have left for winter hols now, and the hospital wing, like much of the castle, is quiet and empty. 

Scorpius looks better than Harry expected, alert and cheerful, sitting up straight in the bed as he watches his handiwork soar to the vaulted ceiling then back down. He catches sight of Harry as his eyes follow the crane, and he smiles, “Hullo, professor.” 

“Hello Scorpius, how are you feeling today?” Harry strolls across the room to stand at the foot of the bed. 

“I feel fine, like I could run the length of the quidditch pitch.” He announces, giving a pointed look to his father.

“Yes, yes, we get it, you’ve made a miraculous recovery.” Malfoy’s sarcasm is laced with fondness. “Alas, your healer wants you to stay a few more days.”

Harry gives Scorpius a conspiratorial look, “I might have a plan to jailbreak you, if you’re interested.” At Malfoy’s warning glare, Harry adds “With Madam Pomfrey’s permission, of course.”

He proceeds to explain about the Christmas party for everyone still in the castle, and Scorpius looks torn between excitement to leave his hospital bed and nervousness to be back with the other students, after his attack. He seems to mentally consider it, then nod resolutely. Harry sees the way he steels himself, and for a moment gets a glimpse of why the Sorting Hat placed him where it did. Fortitude is a special kind of bravery. 

Scorpius’s father is the only one still dubious about the matter.

“You’re welcome as well, Malfoy.” 

*****

Harry sleeps in on Christmas day. Ordinarily, he’d wake up to have breakfast with Teddy in his quarters, it was their own special celebration of the holiday for the past seven years. Harry misses the tradition, but he can’t complain too much about waking up to putter about at a leisurely pace while sipping on a cup of tea, rather than rising early to accommodate Teddy’s excitement. 

As though they know he’s woken up, a parade of owls fly in and out of his window, dropping holiday wishes and little packages on his table. He sifts through them, opening a few notes and letters from old classmates, co-workers from the ministry, and order members. He chuckles when a card from Luna folds itself into a little elf and sings a Christmas carol while tap dancing. 

Resolving to look at the rest later, he tugs on one of his favorite sweaters from Molly and grabs his bag, charmed to hold the gifts he selected for the whole Weasley clan. 

The fireplace in his quarters isn’t connected to the floo network, so he heads to his office, but makes a quick stop in the hospital wing on the way. 

Scorpius sits alone for once, playing with a little silver snitch that Harry guesses is an early Christmas gift. “Happy Christmas!” he calls, walking over to lean against the chair next to Scorpius’s bed. The young Gryffindor smiles at him before snatching the snitch out of the air and setting it on his bedside table. “Where’s your father?” Harry asks, glancing around. Festive music drifts from the open door of Pomfrey’s office, but it doesn’t seem that Malfoy is there. 

“He’ll be here in a while, he sent an owl to tell me he has to visit Grandmother and Grandfather before he comes back.” Scorpius looks only mildly displeased at this, and notably, not at all upset to be missing Christmas with the elder Malfoys. “Sent me this to play with while I wait, though,” he indicates the snitch on the table.

“That’s very cool. I’ve got something that might help pass the time, as well,” Harry announces, digging around in his bag and pulling out a carefully wrapped package to hand to Scorpius. 

The boy looks up at him in surprise, “You….?” he takes the book and runs his fingers reverently over the paper. “Wow, thank you, professor.”

Scorpius seems so genuinely taken aback at receiving a gift from Harry. It leaves Harry to wonder if he’s ever received a gift from someone who wasn’t obligated to care about him - not that Malfoy’s affection for his son seemed at all like obligation - but chose to be invested in his life. 

Harry smiles encouragingly and Scorpius tears the paper from the gift, revealing the cover of a book:  _ Scottish Selkies and Their Culture.  _ He wonders for a moment if he’s missed the mark, but Scorpius looks up at him with a bewildered smile.

“How did you..?”

“A little birdy told me you were interested in Merpeople,” he doesn’t mention that his little birdy is Myrtle, who really just complained that Scorpius sits in her bathroom and ignores her in favor of books about sirens and mermaids, “there are some specific references in there to the colony here in the Black Lake.” 

Grey eyes widen impossibly, “There are selkies here at Hogwarts?!”

Harry grins and shrugs, “Read up and find out!” before departing.

*****

The Burrow is, as usual, filled to the brim with joy and laughter, and the overwhelming sense of  _ family _ that Harry had rarely felt anywhere else. Hogwarts might be home, but this is a very, very close second. 

He sees half of the children on a daily basis, so while he’s glad to see them too, it’s the most refreshing to see the adults again. It’s hugs and kisses all around, plus a particularly firm handshake for Ginny’s longtime boyfriend - they might be divorced but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t get to have an opinion - before he twirls his ex-wife into a hug. 

They eat, and drink, and watch the kids open the veritable  _ mounds _ of gifts piled up in the living room before breaking off to chatter away in smaller groups. 

Eventually, Harry finds himself settled at the kitchen table with Ron and a very tired, yet happy, looking Hermione. He sips a mug of hot chocolate and gets a pang of nostalgia. He’s not sure what for, really. Things are much better now than they were back when it was the three of them against the world - aren’t they? He supposes he misses their companionship, they’re his very best friends, after all, and he hardly sees them anymore. 

“The rumors have reached Hogwarts now, about the minister job.” Harry muses into the quiet. Hermione just beams at him and he laughs, “I’m proud of you. You’re going to be amazing.”

“Not if you jinx it,” she scolds lovingly, picking up a rogue party popper and whacking him on the shoulder with it. 

Ron smiles proudly, “I don’t think there’s a jinx in the world that can stop this. It’s been inevitable, hasn’t it? I could have guessed it, first year, when you told me I was saying Wingardium Leviosa wrong.” 

“You could  _ not _ , Ronald,” she laughs, leaning into his shoulder. They are so happy, Harry’s heart swells with it until it hurts. He’s happy for them. Of anyone in the world, they deserve for things to work out just right, to have the lives they want. “Harry, though, we could have guessed...maybe fifth year, that he’d be Headmaster of Hogwarts one day, don’t you think?” Her eyes glitter with mirth. 

“ _ Deputy _ Headmaster,” Harry corrects with a shake of his head, “And no you couldn’t, we all thought I’d be Head Auror by now.” 

Ron snorts, “Well we  _ were _ partially right about that. We just never would’ve thought you’d turn it down when they offered.”

Unknowingly, Ron hits at the heart of the issue. The Head Auror offer was what kicked off Harry’s panic spiral...the one that led to him leaving the career behind entirely. Harry has never been a very political person. It was maddening in his youth, when everyone tried to make everything he did some sort of statement. The idea of working upward in the Ministry, dealing with the politics of it all - that scared him. It also caused him to shine a light on how rewarding he actually found the job once the novelty wore off. 

What he’s been trying to figure out since Minerva made her offer is whether it was the idea of advancing, of joining the political game, that put him off of DMLE, or if he just hadn’t found the career that made such a decision worth it. He still doesn’t know. 

Hermione, as always, seems to have followed his thoughts without him voicing them. “So how much thought have you given the job, Harry?” she pauses only long enough for him to shrug before continuing, “Personally I think you’d be brilliant. I remember the day McGonagall came to explain everything like it was yesterday. You do so well with the muggleborn students already, not to mention that you’ve been in their shoes, in a way. It seems like a natural fit that you’d be the one to welcome them into our community.”

Harry looks at her in confusion, “I- what??” He’d be the one to explain magic to muggle parents? Him?

“Honestly, Harry,” she rolls her eyes, and he can see the incredulousness in her eyes, even as she laughs, “have you done any research on the position at all? Asked any questions?”

“Well I-”

“And  _ really _ , in twenty-six years, neither of you have managed to find time to read  _ Hogwarts: A History _ ? Unbelievable, truly.” She mutters a few other things under her breath and Ron is holding his hands up in surrender, wondering how he got pulled into this alongside his best mate. 

Harry mimics the gesture, “Alright, alright, I’ll do some research, please just spare me.” He laughs, though he supposes she’s right. He can hardly make a decision like that without all the facts. “I’ll-” he stops short as he catches a glimpse of his wristwatch “I’ll be quite late if I don’t head back to the castle now.” he admits, feeling only a little guilty about delaying the rest of this conversation. 

He stands from the table and Ron and Hermione follow suit, Hermione speaking up, “We will talk about this later. Dinner, I’ll cook for the three of us-” Ron makes a face, and Hermione glares at him, “or we’ll get takeaway, and we’ll talk more about this.” Her face tells Harry this is not optional. He agrees - he would have anyway. 

“Happy Christmas, you guys,” he says sincerely, hugging each of them, before heading off to make the rounds, saying his farewells to everyone. 


	7. The Christmas Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, life got crazy! I'll be speedier from here on (probably) <3

By the time Harry returns to the castle, the house elves have nearly finished setting up for dinner. 

There’s a modestly sized room off the entrance hall that comfortably fits about 40. It’s far too small to be used with any regularity when the students are all there, but with around 20-30 students and only 3-4 other staff left in the castle, it makes a perfect space for a meal. Harry likes to think it allows the students remaining at school to have a special experience they wouldn’t have otherwise. The great hall, beautiful though it is, makes their smaller numbers feel so spread out. There’s a certain warmth in being in closer quarters for a celebration. 

In his first year of teaching, Harry floated the idea by Minerva, who told him to take it up with the elves. They were happy to oblige, until Harry tried to assist with the decorations. Since it was his idea to move the feast into a smaller room, he wanted to contribute to the extra work that must be done...he quickly learned that they’d rather have him far enough away that he won’t muck up their hard work. 

Now, he leaves them to it instead and contributes plenty of butterbeer to their own party in the kitchens as a thank you for their help each year. 

Harry swings by his quarters to change from his sweater into a set of semi-formal robes - it is a special occasion, after all - then proceeds to the hospital wing to escort Scorpius to the feast, as he’d promised Madam Pomfrey. 

The boy has his head in the book Harry gave him earlier in the day, and doesn’t even notice Harry’s presence until Pomfrey calls out to him. “One hint of dizziness, and he’s right back in this bed, do you understand me?” 

Harry nods his agreement, “Of course. You’ll be there too, right? And his father as well.” 

Pomfrey considers this for a moment and before nodding, seemingly satisfied. “Very well. I will see you both at dinner, then.” She disappears through a door in back of her office, to what Harry presumes are her quarters, though he’s never had cause to find out for sure.

“Right then. Have a good day so far, Scorpius?” Harry asks, looking down at the boy. He’s dressed in smart trousers and, interestingly enough, a Gryffindor sweater that looks far too soft and expensive to be school-issue. It looks quite new. “Where’s your father?”

“He’s gone home to change, he’ll be back any moment.” Scorpius explains, setting the book to the side, an enchanted bookmark shimmering into existence to save his page. “We had a great day, he told me all about the Black Lake and how you can see into the water from the Slytherin dormitories. I’m going to visit the giant squid once I’m well again. Dad says it likes to eat sandwiches.”

Harry grins at that. He isn't wrong, the squid does enjoy a sandwich now and then. “Sounds brilliant.” 

He’s saved asking if they need to wait for the elder Malfoy to return by the familiar green of the floo flashing in Pomfrey’s office, before the man in question strides out. 

The man is dressed, surprisingly, not in robes at all, but in fitted grey trousers and a black button-up that sets off the brilliance of his fair complexion. For some reason Harry’s mouth has gone dry. 

“Do you intend to stare all evening, or is there a dinner to attend?” Malfoy asks, even as his eyes run over Harry’s own attire a little slower than strictly necessary. “Oh, Happy Christmas, Potter.”

“Uh, Happy Christmas. Let’s go then. Dinner.”

They caravan the short distance to the entrance hall and Harry leads the way into the room. 

The elves have outdone themselves with a beautifully decorated tree, actual fairies from the forest dancing in circles up overhead, and blissfully, no mistletoe at all. (There was a rather awkward incident last year that Harry prefers not to recall to memory.)

The temping smell of dinner draws the three of them into the room, where a handful of students and staff are already seated and chatting away merrily. 

Harry spots a certain pair of students and his eyes light up, an idea striking him. 

“Scorpius, come here, will you?” He beckons the boy along and approaches two nearly identical boys, their dirty blonde heads turning and blue eyes looking up in question at his approach. “Hullo, Lorcan, Lysander. How’s your mum?” 

They smile almost in unison and the one on the left, Lysander, answers for them both, “She’s quite well, professor. She and dad are on holiday in Siberia, cataloging ice pixies for their next book.” 

Harry grins, “That sounds lovely,” he assures them, taking their agreeing nods to mean they believe his sentiment, or at least accept the nicety of it. “Have you two met Scorpius Malfoy?” He gestures to the nervous looking boy beside him, who, despite his obvious discomfort, waves in greeting. 

“A pleasure to meet you,” he says politely. 

“Scorpius, this is Lorcan, he’s in Hufflepuff, and Lysander, Ravenclaw.” he gestures to each twin in turn. “Their parents are magizoologists. I bet they know a thing or two about the selkies in the Black Lake.”

All three of the boys’ faces light up at that, and they take to conversation like flame to parchment. Before he knows it, the students have forgotten that Harry is there, and he takes his leave, happy to see Scorpius sliding into a chair beside the twins to ask a question about dialects of mermish. 

“What’s all that about?” the voice startles him and Harry jumps minutely. 

He almost forgot that Malfoy was there, but he shakes it off and shrugs. “Those are Luna’s sons. Luna Lovegood, well, Scamander, now. They’re interested in magical creatures, just like Scorpius. I thought they might hit it off.”

Malfoy gives him a look that Harry can’t quite interpret. It’s got a gentle edge to it, though, so Harry takes it as a good thing. 

“Hungry?” he asks after a moment, and heads to find his own seat at the table, leaving the one beside him empty. He gets an unexpected thrill when Malfoy settles down beside him and tucks in. 

*****

Dinner goes swimmingly. The students are all in warm and chipper moods, and talking with Malfoy is surprisingly easy. In fact, there’s almost none of the animosity between them that Harry would have expected. 

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been around all the time for a couple weeks now, maybe it’s because of the moment they had in the Hospital Wing when they both seemed to decide they were too tired to be rivals anymore….or maybe it’s just that so many years have passed, their lives have moved so far along...any words, or actions, or grudges between them feel like a lifetime away. In a way, they are. 

Regardless of why, Harry finds himself conversing pleasantly with both the various students in the room, and Malfoy at his side. 

Throughout the night, he provides little tidbits about each of the students in the room; the reasons they might be at Hogwarts over the holidays, whether they’re regulars during breaks, any other bit of information that he’s learned about each of them that might be interesting. 

They talk awhile about Malfoy’s work, how he likes Mungo’s, how understanding they’ve been about letting him take so much time to be with his son, and a little bit about the politics of the place, which is surprisingly bearable considering Harry’s hatred for politics. 

Their conversation is going so smoothly, that Harry doesn’t even realize that the room has emptied out until he hears Scorpius address them. 

“Dad, professor?” They stop and turn their attention to him, where he stands, flanked by the Scamanders, “Lorcan and Lysander want to take a look at my new book, is it alright if we go to the hospital wing?”

Malfoy appraises the twins and looks doubtful for a moment, but he nods in agreement, “You can tell Madam Pomfrey that I said it was alright, if she asks.” 

Harry grins and nods too, thankful that Malfoy preemptively saved him from any wrath that may result from Scorpius returning without them. 

The boys trail out of the room, still chattering about some creature or another, and Harry and Malfoy are left alone. 

“Thanks for that. I could never get away with disobeying Pomfrey, she’d have my head.”

Malfoy smirks, “Well, I am the best student she’s ever had,” he puffs out his chest but then follows his statement with an admittance, “and it does help that I’m his father.”

Harry laughs and they share a comfortable silence before Malfoy narrows his eyes at him. “I’ve always wondered, Potter...why’ve you never had any children?”

Harry pales at the question, and it’s clear from Malfoy’s face that he regrets asking the moment the words are out. 

“Sorry, that’s not my business.”

“No, it's uh, it’s okay. I’ve just...no one’s asked me that in a long time.” He laughs humorlessly. “I’ve a godson, did you know? Teddy. Lupin. His parents...they..”  _ died in the war. _ The sentence doesn’t need to be finished. “I raised him from a baby," he explains, aware of the emotion in his own voice and continuing despite it, "It's been….the  _ best _ part of my life.” Harry can tell by the look on Malfoy’s face that he knows exactly the feeling. There's a moment of quiet before Harry continues, feeling as though he's passing a point of no return. “I wanted more. I love Teddy like he’s my son, don’t get me wrong, but I’d have a whole brood...if...”

“If?” 

“If...Well, if Ginny had wanted it too.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot up at that, “She didn’t?" There's something incredulous in his voice, an edge that makes Harry flinch. "A  _ Weasley  _ that didn’t want children?”

“As is entirely her right.” Harry says forcefully. That reaction is precisely why Harry doesn’t share this with people. It wouldn’t be fair for Ginny to suffer judgement or blame for being honest about what she wanted out of life. It broke his heart that motherhood wasn’t it, but he loved her. He loved her then and loves her now, even if that, among other things pulled them apart. 

A fleeting glimpse of panic...regret? flashes in Malfoy's eyes. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I didn’t intend to…” 

The silence between them feels fragile. 

“All Astoria wanted was to be a mum.” 

Harry’s surprised to hear Malfoy mention his late wife, and the annoyance drains out of him. He sits very still, as though a sudden movement might stop Malfoy from sharing with him. He finds that he very much wants to hear what comes next. 

“We were arranged, you know? Not so unusual, for two _pureblood_ families,” the word  pureblood is wrapped in scorn that Harry never thought he’d hear from a Malfoy. “We agreed, if only to get our parents to leave us be. When we discovered that both of us had grown ashamed of the things our families valued...well, we bonded over that.” He drifts into silence for a moment, and Harry wonders how this is the same person he knew decades ago. 

Curious, time. 

There’s a sweet melancholy on Malfoy's face, one that feels private, like Harry isn’t supposed to see it, but he can’t look away as Malfoy continues. “When we had Scorpius, we agreed to raise him differently, without the vitriol and the prejudice. We wanted to escape our parents’ mistakes. We were going to have more, too. I didn’t want Scorpius to be lonely.” 

And then she died. Harry knows that part of the story. It happened after Harry left the Aurors, but he heard all about it. A rogue curse in a public place. Crabbe Sr., blaming Malfoy for Vincent’s death and the end of the Crabbe line, had vowed to force the same fate upon the Malfoy family. Astoria Malfoy had sacrificed herself to save her son. Perhaps that’s part of the reason that Harry feels such protective kinship for the child. He knows what it is to grow up missing a mother that died for him to live. 

_ CRASH! _

Both of them jump from their seats at the sound of a glass ornament falling to the floor, and they look over to see a handful of house elves, obviously tipsy from the butterbeer, attempting to levitate the ornaments down from the tree. 

The moment of honesty between the two men is shattered just like the glass on the stone, and Harry finds himself mourning it as it passes. It’s been refreshing to talk to someone this way. 

Harry gently suggests that the elves leave the decorations until morning, then offers to walk Malfoy back to the hospital wing. 

They walk in a silence that feels nearly suffocating after their earlier conversation. Harry feels compelled to break it. 

“The plan was always to get married again, you know. To someone that wanted to have children too. But I never found them. I guess I found all of these children instead.” He gestures to the castle around them, only then realizing that maybe that desire for children had been filled by his role here at Hogwarts. 

“I considered it, too. A second marriage. Maybe to a halfblood, or a _muggle_ , even. Can you imagine the pureblood outrage?” The hint of a mischievous smile sparkles in Harry's periphery. 

Harry smiles softly, finding that he quite enjoys this version of Malfoy, who casually jokes about becoming life partners with a muggle - with the purebloods as the subject of his mockery rather than the muggles. “But you didn’t.”

“Healer training takes up quite a bit of time, it turns out.” he shrugs, “And I don’t suppose I have to tell you about being a single father.” 

“A job of its own,” Harry agrees.

They’ve reached the hospital wing, and a natural break in conversation. A peek into the room shows Pomfrey’s lights out, and Scorpius asleep on his bed, the twins on the spare beds to his left and right. 

“I’m glad you came tonight, Malfoy.”

The blonde gives him an indecipherable look. “Happy Christmas, Potter.”

“Happy Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy, Happy Christmas in August, my friends! ^.^


	8. The Children's Ward

By January’s end, the students have settled back into routines, and Harry along with them. It’s a pleasant feeling, the castle returned to fullness. The chatter in the great hall, the laughter in the corridors, the way the aura of magic swells once more with the combined power of hundreds...it’s refreshing, invigorating. 

But a hint of nostalgia curls up in the back of Harry’s mind. He does so enjoy the castle with a sparse few, as well. It’s different, but special in its own way. This year more than ever he finds that he misses the atmosphere of the break, the opportunity to spend time and learn more about his students. A quiet but insistent voice in his brain suggests that perhaps he misses seeing Malfoy in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps he’d like to have another conversation like they had on Christmas. 

It was relaxing to talk with someone that way, into the late hours, with words he didn’t often say. It reminds him, quite sharply, of the conversations he had with Ginny in the early days of their marriage. They’d sit in their bed and talk through the night, first of the war, processing everything they’d lost, then of the way they watched everyone around them move on - how they themselves were finding the way forward. 

It turned into talking about their future, the lives they could live, without darkness hanging over them. 

It was genuine and intimate...and precious. 

Unfortunately it also unraveled them. They dismantled their own assumptions about one another and found that they yearned to move in different directions. Ginny was ambitious, she wanted to seek new thrills, to climb to new heights. Harry wanted to settle on the ground. 

They let each other. 

Harry never regretted it. Their short marriage, or the way it ended. 

Without that, he would never have ended up here.

And here, Hogwarts, was the perfect place for Harry. 

He’s on a leisurely walk of the grounds as he contemplates this, a soft layer of snow muffling his steps, even as he ventures from the grassy slopes to the stone of the courtyard. He spots a group of students settled there, discussing the fine line between a magical plant and a magical creature. Scorpius, Harry’s pleased to see, is among them, voicing his opinions. The Scamander twins are at his side, as they often are these days. 

Harry moves into the castle, contemplating retiring to his quarters, and wondering if the house elves could be bothered to bring him some biscuits. It’s then that an owl swoops in, nearly hitting him upside the head, and drops a letter before flying off again. 

The paper is hastily sealed with a light sticking charm, and Harry peels it open, eyes quickly darting over the words. 

> _ Harry,  _
> 
> _ Hugo is in St. Mungo’s. He’s going to be okay, but he’s had a bit of a scare at the shop with Ron. I thought you’d want to know. _
> 
> _ -Hermione _

Harry’s stomach drops and he promptly changes direction to head to the hospital wing. It sounds as though Hugo isn’t in any immediate danger, and Hermione hasn’t strictly  _ asked _ that Harry come...but she did inform him, and as the boy’s uncle and godfather both, he isn’t  _ not  _ going to show up. 

Pomfrey is in her office, and upon his request, she allows him to use her floo - it travels directly to the various wards in St. Mungo’s, allowing them to bypass the visitor’s area in case of urgency. 

He floos directly to the children’s ward. 

The mediwitch at reception jumps at his arrival, and he smiles apologetically, but asks for the Weasleys.

“Your relation?”

Harry feels a little taken aback, but answers politely, “I’m family.”

The witch looks a little doubtful, but gives him the room number anyway, and he strides off down the corridor, a little annoyed. Married to Ginny or not, he is Hugo’s uncle, and his godfather to boot. 

The annoyance fades quickly as Harry approaches the room and hears Hermione’s voice from the hallway. “I cannot  _ believe _ you would do something so reckless! I’ve told you a thousand times to  _ stay out of that workshop _ .”

His blood runs a little cold just from her tone, and he feels an odd relief that Hermione is not, in fact,  _ his _ mother, even if she acts a bit like it at times. 

When he reaches the room, Harry sees a truly terrifying sight: Hermione scolding her son (with a full finger wag and everything), while the boy’s ears are quite literally engulfed in flames. 

“Uh, what’s happened??” Harry asks from the door, catching Hermione’s attention. She turns to him and he sees the full range of emotions in her face, anger, fear, exhaustion. 

“Someone,” a glare back at her son, “thought it might be fun to explore Ron and George’s workshop, play with a few prototypes.” Hugo doesn’t try at all to look abashed. “He’s eaten some sort of sweet meant to...shoot fireworks from his ears...I think,” she rolls her eyes. “Instead it’s just set his ears on fire.”

Harry has to stop himself from laughing, and risking Hermione’s wrath. He’s assured by Hugo’s grin that the affliction can’t be terribly painful, which does make it amusing...but he would never admit that in present company. 

“I’m glad he’s alright. What can I do?” Harry offers his friend. 

Hermione looks at her son, then out into the hallway. She bites her lip, a nervousness in her eyes that can only be associated with one person, “I’ve still not told Molly…”

“I love you, Hermione, but you’re on your own with that one. She’ll have a fit.”

She scowls at him, “Yes, yes I know. If you’ll just sit with him for a while? His healer should be back by with another potion soon.” 

“Of course.”

Hermione spares another long glance at her son, the worry winning out on her face, and turns to leave - presumably to firecall Molly.

Harry settles in the chair by Hugo’s bed and finally allows himself to chuckle, taking in the peculiar way the flames lick at his skin but don’t seem to burn him despite being quite hot - Harry can feel it from where he’s sitting. The skin looks an angry dark red beneath the flame, but Harry can’t tell what that means. 

“Did it taste good, then?” he asks with a grin. 

Hugo giggles, fingers going to his ears to feel the flames, the skin of his hands is similarly unburnt. “It didn’t taste much like anything. Chewy. Thought it was going to be a licorice or summat.”

“Tell that to your dad later, but don’t let your mum know,” he says conspiratorially. “You gave her a scare, I think. Your mum worries about you.” These words are more serious, and Hugo does finally look a little guilty for getting into something dangerous. “Let’s try to only sample the sweets that are fit for sale next time, yeah?”

The boy nods in agreement, and before he can say anything else, someone enters the room. Harry sees lime robes, a wooden clipboard, and bottles of potion before he registers pale hair and grey eyes. “Malfoy?” He blurts it out before his brain manages to make the connection. Of course it’s Malfoy. He works in the children’s ward at Mungo’s. Harry knows this. 

Malfoy seems equally surprised to see Harry sitting at Hugo’s bedside, though his surprise is much more justified, since Malfoy  _ works here. _ Harry rolls his eyes internally at himself, and Malfoy takes this turn of events in stride. 

“Hello again Hugo,” He greets cheerily before turning his gaze to Harry, “Hello, Potter. Where’s Granger gone?”

It strikes Harry as odd that Hermione knew that Malfoy was Hugo’s healer and didn’t say anything to him about it...and then as he thinks about it further he wonders if it is odd at all….or is it odd that Harry finds this a fact that deserves to be announced?

“Potter, are you deaf?” Malfoy repeats his question and Harry snaps back to attention.

“Oh, she’s gone to report to Hugo’s grandmother. Do you have an update? I can pass it along.”

Malfoy frowns but nods. “I’ve consulted a burns specialist and they confirmed that we’ll have to wait for the flames to disperse before we can properly heal the burns on his ears. The sweet he ate should move through his system, and it’ll wear off on its own - anywhere from a few hours to a day at most. In the meantime, the fire protection and pain potions we have him on will keep him comfortable and prevent further damage.”

Harry takes in that information and nods, making a mental note so he can repeat it exactly to Hermione when she gets back. 

“Hugo, how are you feeling?” Malfoy turns to Hugo and asks him a few questions, whether his ears feel cool or warm, if he feels dizzy at all, if any other part of his body is hot, and on. 

Hugo answers diligently, and finally puts on a very pathetic voice to say, “I’m quite bored.” 

Harry begins to say that he’ll find something to entertain his nephew - Malfoy must be busy - but the healer takes it in stride, nodding and pulling something out of his pocket. 

“This’ll be safe for you to play with. It’s charmed not to catch fire, just like you.” He grins and holds out a little wooden dragon, which stretches out its wings and takes flight, immediately letting out a burst of flames in Hugo’s direction. The fire billows harmlessly against Hugo’s face, and the 8 year old laughs joyfully, enamored with the toy as it lands on his shoulder and climbs up one flaming ear onto his head, similarly unaffected from the flames from Hugo’s ears. 

Having quite thoroughly lost the boy’s attention, Malfoy turns back to Harry, “The fire is very real. He’s protected from it, but you are not. If you’re going to be staying with him, be careful how close you allow your robes.” 

Harry’s staring again, and Malfoy gives him a pointed look when he doesn’t respond. “Yes, right, careful not to catch fire.” He glances over at Hugo, grin on his face as the dragon toy orbits him in his bed. “You’re quite good with him.” Harry points out. 

Malfoy snorts, “Yes, well. One does learn how to speak with children in this ward. Some of them are around for quite some time and must be entertained.” 

Harry hums in acknowledgement. “That must be hard.”

Malfoy sets the vials of potion down and makes a show of marking something on his clipboard. “Quite more so for them than for me.”

“You like to be around the children anyway.” It isn’t a question. 

Malfoy does smile minutely at that, “They tend to judge you based on how you treat them, and not what they’ve heard about you.” 

He straightens up and turns to look fully at Harry. “The blue potion is for fire protection, the green is for pain. He can have either as soon as he needs it. It’ll be quite obvious, I’m afraid, when they begin to wear off. Have a mediwitch or wizard summon me if anything happens.”

Harry nods dutifully, adding those things to his list of updates for Hermione. 

Malfoy turns to head out the door, and Harry is struck by the desire for him to stay, “Malfoy-” he cuts himself off, quashing the urge to ask if he’d like to get a drink, or have tea, or something else truly ridiculous. But Malfoy is looking at him now, grey eyes expectant, and not as annoyed as Harry would expect. “I...uh, Thank you.” 

The response is a tight smile, and a swish of lime robes as Malfoy walks out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else love healer!draco? I'm a sucker for it.


	9. The Letter

The tantalizing warmth of spring yawns across the grounds, driving students from the castle into the sunlight, to walk the grounds, lounge by the lake, and enjoy a few hours of freedom from the overwhelming tension of their upcoming exams. 

Harry himself is feeling fairly scatterbrained these days as well, though little of that has to do with the essays he has to mark, or how his students will perform in their testing next month. No, his thoughts are infuriatingly overrun with lime green robes and platinum blonde hair. 

It’s one thing to ruminate endlessly on the conversation they had at Christmas - Harry had shared a scrap or two of quite intimate information about his life, his divorce - but this is getting out of hand. He can’t stop running Malfoy’s words through his mind, about being judged on his actions and not his reputation. He can’t stop thinking about him in general. About his life, and how it turned out...how he seems like an entirely different person from the schoolboy Harry thought he knew. 

Seeing him again in December after the years that passed since the war….it had been unexpectedly congenial. He wonders if - given time to  _ expect _ anything from their interaction - he would have expected more animosity, a colder reunion. He finds himself thinking about the kind of man Malfoy appears now, and the very nature of people in general. It seems silly, when he thinks about it, not to consider the possibility that someone can change entirely from one thing to another. 

Their lives - Harry’s generation - none of them were short on transformative experiences. Harry doesn’t know anyone, from the very front lines to the fringes of the war, that didn’t go through something with the power to shake the foundations of their beliefs. Most of them endured pain and loss that cut to their very cores. It would be childish to carry the notion that the other side escaped that. 

There were plenty on the side of the Dark Lord that brought pain and suffering upon themselves. Plenty that had gotten their due, as far as Harry is concerned. 

Something tells him that Malfoy has suffered more than his share, and that the effect it’s had on him is exponential. 

These are the kinds of thoughts sneaking up on him in everyday moments this term. They’re the reason that Dean is convinced Harry’s finally lost his gobstones, from all the times his attention has drifted off in the middle of a mealtime conversation. They’re to blame for the horrifying number of times Harry has asked Scorpius how his father is doing. He can also blame these thoughts for the troubling frequency with which his eyes scan the Marauder’s Map, as though he might see Malfoy’s name turn up in the corridor. That part scares him most, the sickening déjà vu of it. 

He convinces himself that the thoughts are a phase, that the loneliness of being without Teddy at Hogwarts has finally gotten to him. Harry manages to believe his own mental blocks so fully that he jumps at the chance to invite Luna to tea when she visits the castle in late May, knowing with certainty that time spent with an old friend will sort his brain out. 

That’s what brings him to be sitting in his chambers, sipping tea by the fire while Luna regales him with tales of the things she’s seen on her most recent travels. He’s never sure how much is actually true, but tends to lean towards seeing Luna more as an underappreciated genius than a nutter. 

“...and the bite did heal on its own, actually. I think it’s proven my belief that ice pixie saliva protects against the cold, because Rolf didn’t have to refresh his warming charms the whole rest of the trip.” 

“That’s brilliant, Luna.” Harry grins, despite having missed a few minor details of her story. Whether that was due to his lack of attention span of late, or the very nature of Luna’s experience was difficult to say. 

“I quite think so as well,” she agrees, and launches into another story about an encounter they had with a yeti.

They chat a while longer about her trip, and Harry asks if she’ll be publishing a new book of their findings soon. She confirms it and explains that she plans to visit Professor Broadwell, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, who is a friend of her husband’s family (and potentially a fugitive) from the states. “She’s quite knowledgeable on pixie mating customs, you know.”

Luna asks after her sons, and then after Teddy and the rest of the Weasley family. Harry gives her updates, fondly speculating that Teddy and Victoire will be engaged within the year, and Hermione could be Minister of Magic just as imminently. 

“And what about Draco?”

The question catches Harry off guard and he sputters a bit. Why would she ask him about Malfoy? He does wonder now and again if Luna can read thoughts. It wouldn’t be too surprising, with how perceptive she’s always been. Then again, there’s also her children who’ve grown quite close to Malfoy’s boy…

“You’ve started writing him a letter.” She points out airily, gesturing to a parchment set aside earlier in the day. Harry had considered writing him a letter. Or...perhaps he just wanted to write down the name that seemed to be on his mind these days more often than it wasn’t. “I always thought you’d get on quite well if your auras stopped conspiring against you.” She notes, wisely. “Yours has calmed down so much in the past few years.”

Harry doesn’t know how to respond to that, but Luna doesn’t seem to expect a response anyway. She’s standing from the table and vanishing her teacup before he can finish processing her words. “Thank you for tea, Harry. I won’t keep you from your thoughts any longer, I can see you have a lot of them to tend to.” Knowledge glitters behind her eyes even as she turns to the door. 

He escorts her into the corridor and thanks her for stopping by, “It’s always great to see you Luna, I hope you’ll not stay away too long next time.” 

She doesn’t answer, but hugs him gently and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“You should write the letter, you know.”

And with that, she’s drifting off down the hallway, merrily greeting the portraits by name as she goes. 

*****

Harry doesn’t think again about Luna’s suggestion until after dinner. He’s sat at the table in his quarters, marking an essay on the effects of adrenaline boosting potion on defensive magic, and his eyes stray now and again to the nearly blank parchment, laying just where he left it. 

He reads a sentence about heart rhythms and shield charms, then he reads it again. A third time, a fourth, and he still doesn’t draw any meaning from the words. 

It’s with little guilt that Harry finally sets his marking aside. His students deserve to have his full attention on their work - even those that haven’t given it much attention themselves - and he will be more likely to pay them the attention they’re due later. 

With the decision made to put off his work, Harry’s eyes drift back over to the would-be letter, he bites his lip, and reaches out for it, sliding it over to take the place of the stack of essays he’s set aside. 

_ ‘Malfoy,’ _ it says. Just one word on the page, and Harry stares at it for a long few moments, the ink from his quill dribbling onto the table as his eyes trace those six messy letters. 

> _ ~~I’ve been thinking about our talk at Christmas-~~   
>  _

Nope.

> ~~_ I wanted to thank you again for treating Hugo’s- _ ~~

Not that either.

> ~~_ The castle feels emptier withou- _ ~~

Rubbish. All of it’s rubbish, and he feels like a bloody idiot.

Write a letter to Malfoy? What for? Because they had one moment of honesty? Because it was so thrilling for Harry to see the man just doing his bloody job?

> ~~_ Scorpius has been- _ ~~

He stops and starts again.

> _ I quite like the look of you in green. _

Harry’s not sure where this has come from, but he lets himself keep writing. 

> _ Not the green of your healer's robes, though they don’t do you any disservice either, but the emerald shade you’re partial to. Well, you used to be partial to it, but I don’t know if you are anymore. I thought for a long time that I knew who you were...one kind of static person, a childhood bully. I’m realising now that you might have been that before, but you weren’t for very long, were you? I don’t think any of us are static. I know now that I don’t know you at all. Or maybe I’m starting to. And maybe I want to. What’s that all about, eh? _

He stops writing and looks down at his own words, flushing furiously and crumpling up the parchment to toss it in the fire. 

Sending Malfoy a letter. What a notion. 

He watches the paper burn for a moment, then decides he’ll turn in early for the night. He can certainly use the extra sleep. 

*****

That night, Harry dreams of plains of pale skin, soft under his fingers, and responsive to his touch. 

Heat and desire crash over him, flame cascading down his body from his chest to his every extremity. He preens like a cat against a warm solid body, the pair of them surrounded by a cocoon of green silk. Rough hands trail over his skin, his body alive and shaking with need - need to press closer, need to feel more, even if it threatens to burn him alive. 

He comes undone with hands tugging at blonde hair and lips pressed reverently against his jaw. 

When he wakes, damp and panting, a wild fury still rages in his chest, his body alight with it as he lay in the dark. 

Harry stares up at the ceiling, the dying fire casting a soft ballet of shadows against the dark stone, and realizes that he’s well and truly fucked. 


	10. The Summer Slump

Contrary to what his friends might believe, Harry loves 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Sure, its halls were once haunted with memories best forgotten, and dark magic once lingered in every brick and slab of wood. 

But all of that has changed. 

He considered getting rid of the place - casting it and the angst that it provoked in him aside, but it became a big part of his recovery when the war was finally over. 

Days, weeks, months of his young adult life were spent in this place, fixing it. If there was darkness in every brick, he replaced them one by one. He systematically broke each and every curse from the foundations, extracted every evil book, heirloom, and artifact, dismantled every portrait, and built something new upon the skeleton that was left. 

Over a few long months, it transformed. The inside now barely resembles the place it once was. The darkness and evil are gone, leaving only light, open spaces full of windows that let the sun stream in during the day and cozy fires that crackle merrily all night. Those things made Grimmauld a house. It was Teddy that made it into Harry’s home. 

This is the house Teddy grew up in. Grimmauld finally served as the stage for a good childhood to play out, one full of love, and comfort, and reassurance. Echoes of the past, memories of pain and fear were outshone by the sound of Teddy’s footsteps as he ran through the halls, the smell of biscuits baking in the kitchen as Harry tried to learn one of Molly’s recipes, the echo of laughter when Teddy learned to transform himself into a replica of Kreature, much to the elf’s distaste.

Grimmauld is the only real home Harry has ever had, outside of Hogwarts, and his limited time at the Burrow. 

Harry loves Grimmauld. But he hates the quiet.

He arrived, as usual for the summer months, to a freshly cleaned house. Despite his grumbling, Kreature seems to prefer the more manageable nature of the place, if the way he keeps it so pristine is anything to go on.

It only takes a week or two for Harry to realize that the silence where there used to be noise is almost unbearable. 

Lonely, his mind supplies, the silence is lonely. 

It’s the first time he’s ever been in this house alone for any length of time. Teddy moved out during the school year, already gone and settled into his new Hogsmeade cottage, managing the WWW shop for Ron and George, while helping Victoire to get her business off the ground. 

His room sits empty. Harry keeps the door shut while he processes the warring sadness of his boy leaving home and the joy of the beautiful life he’ll get to live. That was all Harry ever wanted, after all, for Teddy to have a good life. And he does. Harry reminds himself of that. 

It doesn’t make the house any less quiet. 

He sets his tea down and calls out to Kreacher that he’ll be heading into the city for a while. It’s been ages since Harry spent any time in London. 

The Leaky Cauldron is bustling with patrons when Harry floos in, and he manages to work his way through the crowd without too much hassle. A few people call out greetings to him, more stare, but only one or two stop him for a handshake or to ask after his family. He stays polite and brief with them, something he’s become quite skilled at over the years, and finally reaches the entrance to Diagon, fondly remembering the very first time he came here, with Hagrid. 

Harry makes a note to check up on Hagrid. They haven’t spoken in quite some time, but Harry knows he’s been quite happy in France, where he took up a teaching post at Beauxbatons after the war. 

Diagon is busy as ever, though maybe not quite so much as it can be around the holidays, or in August. Some of the most booming business is, unsurprisingly, at the end of the road, where the original Weasley shop still stands.

Thinking he’ll pop in for a chat with Ron, Harry steps inside, where he sees that a state of eternal chaos still reigns. It’s success, as clearly illustrated as possible, and Harry feels a fierce pride in his friends every time he sees it. He picks his way through the crowd, noticing bright red hair at the checkout counter. 

“Excuse me, sir, do you have anything that’ll set my ears aflame?” Harry calls innocently over the din. 

Ron scowls distractedly up at his friend, but Harry doesn’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Hold on a sec, mate.” He finishes a transaction with the young wizard in front of him, then calls over his shoulder, “Oi, Laurel!”

A moment later, a small asian girl stumbles out of a door marked ‘Employees Only’ looking simultaneously eager and nervous. “Yes, Mr. Weasley? Oh! Hello, Professor!”

Harry recognizes Laurel as a Hufflepuff who used to be in his classes, she must be going into her 6th or 7th year, and isn’t taking Defense at the NEWT level...he doesn’t know her well, but smiles pleasantly, wracking his brain for her last name, “Hello, Miss Yang. Having a pleasant summer?” 

It’s a shot in the dark, but she smiles and nods, to his relief. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Laurel, take the register for a moment please, while I chat with Ha- uh, Professor Potter.” 

“Yes, sir!” She cheerily turns to greet the next waiting customer and Harry follows Ron through the employee door. 

Harry grins at the way his shoulders drain of tension the moment they leave the sales floor. “Business is booming as always, I see.”

Ron nods, looking less thrilled at this fact. “It’s been mad since the start of summer. Nice to have some new part-time staff to help out a bit though, Laurel and a couple other Hogwarts kids have signed on for the summer.”

“That must be fun for them.”

“Us too. George especially is quite taken with them. Laurel’s actually been helping him with that bloody fire licorice...she’s quite good with charms. Still doesn’t spark like it was supposed to, but it sets your ears on fire when you’re embarrassed. Quite funny, really….when it doesn’t burn you.” 

“Still a work in progress, then.”

“Don’t tell ‘Mione, she’ll have my head if she knows we’re still working on that one after Hugo’s accident.”

Harry nods gravely, though his eyes are laughing, “I’d never.”

Ron grins, “So what brings you out? House too quiet?”

Harry feels rather see-through. It must show on his face, because Ron laughs. 

“You’ve never liked too much peace and quiet. Need a little noise to keep you occupied. You’re welcome to take Hugo for a while, or Hell, welcome to help out round here. George and Angelina are on holiday with the kids so it's just me and the staff for a while. Thank Merlin for Teddy, taking on Hogsmeade.”

“All of that is a  _ very _ tempting offer,” Harry says, voice laced with sarcasm, “But I’m only stopping by. I’ve got a little shopping to do, some post to send...maybe I’ll get an ice cream.”

Ron snorts at that, but nods, then grimaces as a crash is heard from the public part of the shop. “Bollocks. I’ve gotta get back out there.” He looks at Harry with concern, “Come by for dinner next week, yeah? It’s been too long since we’ve caught up.”

Harry nods, “Absolutely. Go on, check on your shop, and stop worrying about me, you tosser.”

The last few words are yelled at Ron’s back as he heads to investigate the sound. 

It turns out to just be a display that’s fallen over, easily cleaned up, but Ron clearly doesn’t have the time to chat anymore, so Harry lingers in the shop for only a few more minutes. He likes to stay apprised of exactly what kind of mischief his Gryffindors will be trying to sneak into the castle come September. 

Eventually he finds himself back out on the street, walking past the shops and considering if he really does need anything from any of them. He told Ron he had shopping to do, but that was more to avoid the look of pity he was afraid might come. He knows that Ron and Hermione are afraid he’s lonely. He doesn’t need them to know that they’re right. 

In fact, he’s only just admitting it to himself, as he looks into the window of Madam Malkins, and ponders whether he should update his teaching robes. It’s been a few years since he’s had new ones. He decides there’s no harm in taking a peek around the shop and moves to head inside, nearly running head-first into someone as he does so, knocking them both off balance. 

An apology is already halfway out of his mouth when he realizes it’s Malfoy he’s got a steadying hand on. He flushes a little and straightens up, pulling his hand back to his side. 

“Careful there, Potter,” Malfoy says flatly. 

The man eyes him up and down and Harry gets the most peculiar sense of deja vu. He chuckles at the thought, unaware of how bizarre he seems until Malfoy raises a bemused eyebrow at him. 

“We met here, you know. Twenty-five years ago,” he explains, knowing it’s not really an explanation at all.

Malfoy’s face twists in confusion, “Did we?”

Harry nods, “Getting our Hogwarts robes. You were the first wizard our age I’d ever spoken to.”

A self-deprecating laugh, “Shocking that didn’t scare you off us as a whole. I was a right prat as a boy.” 

This reaction isn’t exactly what Harry expected, but he grins and shrugs, “You’re not... _ not _ right about that.”

Malfoy sneers at him, but it’s without heat, “Anyway, don’t let me distract you from your robe shopping, it’s obviously quite critical.” Cool grey eyes focus in on where the sleeve of Harry’s summer robe is frayed at the cuff, and Harry flushes, shoving the sleeves up to hide the cuff and reveal his forearms. Malfoy’s eyes linger there for another moment - appreciatively? No. Certainly not - before they shift up to his face again. 

“Right, then,” Harry says awkwardly, “See you.” He makes to head into the shop once more but Malfoy’s hand on his arm stops him. The man looks alarmed at his own actions, but quickly collects himself. 

“Ah, unless...Have you had lunch, Potter?”

What?

Harry doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Malfoy snorts, “The meal one typically ingests around midday. Lunch.” 

“Yes, I know what  _ lunch _ is, you git,” he grumbles, and Malfoy is looking at him pointedly, expecting an answer, probably. “And no, I haven’t.”

“Well come on then.” 

And Harry can’t  _ not _ follow, can he?

*****

  
They end up munching on sandwiches and chips at a quaint little café that Harry’s never noticed before. Malfoy explains that it was part of the reopening of Diagon after the war, which makes sense. Harry avoided being in public most of the time back then, it was all too overwhelming, everyone wanting a piece of the “savior” of the wizarding world. 

“So are you spending the summer back in London, then? Or just visiting?” Malfoy asks, as though them sitting down for lunch together on a whim is the most usual thing he’s done all day. “You do live in London, right? Mother told me you’d inherited one of the old Black family estates.”

Harry nods through a mouthful of chip, speaking only after he’s swallowed, lest Malfoy get all posh and judgemental of his lack of manners. “Sirius...my godfather, left me a house in Islington. I don’t know if two months out of the year counts as  _ living _ there, but it’s where I go when I’m not at Hogwarts.”

Malfoy tilts his head, chewing thoughtfully for a moment, “I’m nearby. Moved from Wiltshire to a flat in Camden, just a few years back.”

It’s all very surreal. Chatting about their lives as though their relationship is uncharged, an acquaintanceship without polarity. 

“Scorpius enjoys the summer in London, usually,” Malfoy continues, a hint of sad wistfulness in his voice.

Harry looks up at him, brows furrowed, “Is he not enjoying his time off school?” The concern in his chest isn’t unexpected any longer, not when it comes to Scorpius. Harry’s accepted that the kid is one of his now, he worries about him just as he does about the other children he’s built bonds with over the years. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s enjoying it quite a bit, if the lack of letters home to his dad is anything to go on.” Malfoy chuckles fondly, “He’s in China, you see. The Scamanders invited him on their family holiday to see….I won’t pretend to remember what creatures they’re pursuing, just that Lovegood assured me he’ll be perfectly safe.”

This news takes Harry by surprise, not that the Scamanders would extend the invitation, or that Scorpius would want to go, but that Malfoy had agreed to let him. 

It makes a little more sense now why Malfoy would invite him to lunch...perhaps he’s as lonely as Harry has been, by himself in a quiet home. 

“Luna’s name is Scamander too now, you know,” is the safest response he can come up with.

Malfoy scowls, “Yes, I’m aware. Thanks to you we’ve become quite regularly acquainted.”

Harry laughs. “I apologize for encouraging your son to make friends.”

“Your unquenchable need to  _ help _ people is your downfall yet again.” 

Malfoy’s tone doesn’t match his words at all. They’re the old Malfoy’s sentiments wrapped in the care and gratitude of the new man that sits before Harry. 

“McGonagall has asked me to be Deputy Headmaster,” he blurts out, suddenly wanting to know what Malfoy has to say about that. It might be that he wants to know what Malfoy has to say about a lot of things, actually. 

It’s Malfoy’s turn to be surprised, though it passes quickly. He hums in contemplation and then nods, slowly. “I can see why she would. You do treat the students very fairly, unlike some heads of house we’ve known. I imagine the fact that you grew up with muggles would help the muggleborn outreach effort, as well.” 

Harry’s cheeks color lightly. “I...thanks. I’m still deciding, but I’m leaning in favor, I think,” he muses, thinking that if anything, he’ll be busy the second half of the summer visiting muggleborns, and won’t have very much time to contemplate how empty his house feels. 

“My turn,” Malfoy announces with a cool smile, confidence only wearing thin in his eyes.

“Oh?” Harry asks encouragingly.

Malfoy clears his throat, “Poppy is retiring this year, she’s suggested me as her replacement. The headmistress extended an offer earlier this week.”

A bright and genuine smile splits Harry’s face at that. He’s not sure why the thought makes him so giddy, so….proud? That can’t be right. “You’re joining the Hogwarts staff?” 

“I’m considering it.” The answer is prim and diplomatic, but there’s a humble pride in Malfoy’s face as well. “Though...who would turn down an offer to work at Hogwarts?” he grins.

Harry’s inclined to agree. 

They talk a while longer, about Hogwarts, the summer heat, a few more comments about Harry’s robes that make him resolve to actually purchase new ones, and all manner of other things. 

When they part ways, Harry does so with a skip in his step. Well, not literally, but he does feel lighter, and he feels a certain conviction in his chest...one that makes him pick up a quill the moment he gets home.

He writes to McGonagall right away, accepting her offer. 


	11. The Deputy Headmaster

The next few weeks of summer pass by slowly, and Harry makes himself enjoy them. He works in the garden at Grimmauld Place, he reads for leisure, he goes to Ron and Hermione’s for dinner once a week, he watches Ginny play a reunion match with the 2006 Holyhead Harpies championship team. He even makes the trip to Madam Malkins and acquires an entire wardrobe of carefully tailored robes, fit for a Deputy Headmaster. It costs a small fortune, but Harry feels good about it. 

It’s almost enough to convince him that he’s perfectly fine. He could make it all summer alone in that house if he had to. It’s not worse than the early years after his divorce, when he was on his own with Teddy, and still working regular overtime as an auror, madly trying to find balance in his life. It’s not harder than that to just...exist. 

He’s fine. Totally fine.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t be excited to celebrate his birthday for the first time in a long time, right? 

Molly throws him a party every year. She has since he turned 18, the summer after the war. In those days it was always a big ordeal, to make up for the years of his life spent without birthday celebrations, allegedly. These days it’s a more casual affair, but still, all the Weasleys always come, plus anyone left from the Order, and his old schoolmates are always invited. 

This year is no different, except for how relaxed Harry feels being the center of attention. Not because he necessarily  _ wants _ the attention, but because it is unusually comforting to feel loved. 

It’s rare that he needs the reminder, but he’s felt a bit short on companionship this past year, and each and every face that is here to celebrate him is a reassurance that lonely as he feels sometimes, he is never truly alone. 

He feels that now in the strongest sense as he stands out back at the Burrow, chatting happily with Angelina about the Gryffindor Quidditch team these days (He claims they’d give the 1994 team a run for their money, she reckons he’s wrong), while the rest of his friends and family chatter and laugh, congregating together around mismatched tables set with mismatched china. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” He hears Teddy’s boisterous call in the instant before his godson pounces on him, nearly knocking the air from his lungs, even as his heart swells with joy. 

Harry grips him tightly for a moment, smiling apologetically at Angelina, who just laughs and saunters off to wrap an arm around George’s waist. 

“Thank you, Ted,” he says softly, pulling away and holding Teddy at arms length to get a look at him. He looks well. No dark circles under his eyes, his skin unblemished, save for the doxy tattoo peeking from his shirt collar as usual (Harry wanted to be mad about that when Teddy came home with it at sixteen, but it reminded him so much of Tonks, that he couldn’t manage it). His hair is a shade of amethyst that would put the actual stone to shame, and his eyes are a warm honey brown that match Harry’s memories of Remus to a T. “How are you?” he asks anyway. 

“I’m fantastic, actually.” Teddy bounces up and down on his toes the way Harry knows he does when he’s nervous. Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Well,” Teddy flushes, “you see-”

_ “Mon Dieu!”  _ Fleur’s screech comes from across the yard, gathering the attention of everyone in attendance. 

Harry’s eyes widen as he realizes that she’s inspecting her daughter’s outstretched hand, and it clicks as both she and Bill envelope Victoire in a joint embrace. 

“You didn’t!” he looks back to Teddy, eyes wide, and a smile threatening his face, his chest feels ready to burst. 

Teddy practically glows with happiness, “I just knew.” 

Harry laughs happily, hugging him close again. “I’m so happy for you,” he murmurs into his hair, “and so proud of you.”

Apparently realizing that they’re making quite the spectacle, Bill decides to clue everyone else in. “We’re having a wedding!” he announces gleefully, and the yard erupts into cheers. 

Harry’s happy to let this news overshadow his day, Teddy’s utter joy is the best birthday present he could ask for, and he’s content to watch their loved ones fawn over the newly engaged couple, and inquire about how Teddy asked, how long of an engagement they’re planning, where they think they’ll hold the ceremony…

It’s as he’s watching this unfold that an unassuming owl locates him in a chair at the edge of the goings-on and drops a letter in his lap. Curiously, he picks it up, and inspects his name on the front in handwriting he doesn’t recognize. He opens it and something heavy falls out. Upon closer inspection, it’s a lapel pin, elaborately engraved with the Hogwarts crest. Each house’s quarter shimmers in their colors. It’ll look quite sharp against his new robes, he muses, unfolding the letter to read what’s been written. 

> _ Happy Birthday, Potter. The Headmistress told me you’ve accepted her offer. Congratulations. I’ll see you in September.  _
> 
> _ Draco L. Malfoy _

Harry’s face warms and his heart flutters in his chest, both at the thought that Malfoy’s remembered his birthday, and the implications of his short letter.  _ I’ll see you in September. _ Malfoy accepted the job too.

*****

August finds Harry more nervous than he’s been in quite some time. Armed with a stack of Hogwarts acceptance letters and brief words of advice from Minerva and Hermione, he sets off on a journey around Britain to inform nine young muggleborn witches and wizards about the existence of magic, and their acceptance to Hogwarts. 

Harry forgoes his new robes in favor of muggle clothing, hoping it will help to ease the families into the news he’ll be sharing with them. He could pass easily for a university professor; crisp white shirt tucked into soft grey trousers, a black tie round his neck and his new Hogwarts crest pin carefully affixed to the lapel of his sport coat. He’s even tamed his hair with a bit of Sleekeazy’s, and for the moment, it’s holding where he’s parted and combed it to one side. 

Despite all his efforts to look the part, a wave of nausea crashes over Harry as he ascends the front steps of the very first house on his list.

Swaying where he stands, Harry grabs the hand rail and steels himself. He can do this. Minerva has faith in him to do this. It’s an honor, and a privilege, and he needs to dig deep and muster all the damn Gryffindor courage he can. 

A few deep breaths later, his resolve is strengthened, and he knocks on the door. 

A moment of silence passes. He hears a plane rumble overhead, laughter from a group of children playing tag down the street, then finally, the sound of footsteps from within the house. 

A sweet looking woman opens the door and gives him a pleasantly curious look. She’s clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt, both smeared here and there with soil. Her honey brown cheeks are tinged pink from the sun, and her black hair is plaited down her back.

“Hello, Mrs. Mahdavi?” He greets her with a warm smile, “I am Professor Harry Potter, Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts...a school for incredibly gifted children. I’d like to speak with you regarding your daughter, Shana.” So far so good, he managed the introduction, at least. 

Mrs. Mahdavi’s face remains pleasant, if a bit bemused, but she opens the door to invite Harry inside. “Welcome, Mr. Potter. I apologize, I’ve been tending the garden, so I won’t shake your hand.” 

“That’s quite alright,” he assures her, stepping inside and taking a glance around the home. It’s open and spacious, and smells of flowers, lavender, maybe. “You have a lovely home. Are Shana and her father here?”

Thankfully, Harry’s been provided with information on each family, enough to know if they have siblings or not, whether they reside with one parent, or two, or any other relation or guardians. He also knows the best time of day to reach them, and that both Shana and Mr. Mahdavi are, in fact, in the house. It felt a little strange to him, reading about them before, but he finds himself grateful, in the moment, that he knows what to expect. 

Mrs. Mahdavi is still confused, but she nods and offers him a seat in the sitting room and beckons her husband and daughter. “Would you like any tea?”

Harry politely declines.

The Mahdavi family end up seated together on the sofa, each appraising Harry with different looks. Shana’s is bright and curious, Mrs. Mahdavi’s kindly intrigued, and Mr. Mahdavi’s is simply dubious. 

He smiles weakly at them, and prays one last time that this goes well before opening his mouth to speak. “I have something to share with you that might be difficult for you to believe, but it is imperative that you know the nature of how special Shana truly is,” he takes a deep breath, “The school that I represent, Hogwarts, is one of witchcraft and wizardry. We educate young people with magical abilities, people like Shana.”

Shana’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, a hopeful smile spreading across her face, and the power of it radiates through Harry’s chest, he feels liable to burst from it. That look, the immediate acceptance, the belief of something bigger, the willingness to embrace the unknown, that alone could well be worth everything he’s ever done. 

And then there are her parents. Shana’s mother wears a look of concerned disbelief, as though she’s just realized that there’s a madman sitting in her armchair, and her husband trends the same, though his face is decidedly more hostile. However, neither of them are yelling, or trying to throw him out yet, so he pushes on. 

“I know that this may sound like madness to you. Think about it this way: have you ever seen Shana do something that you can’t explain?” This is a pointed question. Harry knows that when she was six, Shana fell from a second storey window and walked away totally unscathed, he also knows that she once transfigured her stuffed rabbit into a real one in the middle of the night. As he watches their faces carefully, he knows that her parents are recalling those same incidents. “Young witches and wizards have bursts of accidental magic. Usually it’s either to protect them, or to cater to their strongest desires.” 

Harry gives them a moment to contemplate, and watches their faces. He sees it in her eyes, the moment that Mrs. Mahdavi believes him, a mixture of awe and terror on her face, and he knows that her head is filled with questions about what this all means. 

Her husband is less convinced. He narrows his eyes and says the words Harry is, admittedly, most excited to hear, “If magic is real, then shouldn’t you be able to prove it?”

Harry smiles, “I can, with your permission, demonstrate a spell for you.” He withdraws his wand from the inside of his jacket and looks up for approval. 

Mr. Mahdavi regards his wand with apprehension and gives a tentative nod.

Like reflex, Harry draws on his memories, it’s easy, with Teddy’s  _ ‘I just knew’ _ fresh in his mind, to channel pure happiness from his chest and through his wand to produce his patronus with a swish. 

The irony, that this is the charm he’s allowed to perform for muggle parents isn’t lost on Harry. He wishes he could tell himself at barely fifteen years old about this. 

His stag, silvery and bright, canters about in the sitting room, radiating joy into the space, the faces of all three Mahdavis light up in reaction to it. Harry sees wonder and joy, but no longer disbelief living there. 

After the stag has slowly faded away, Harry does his best to explain further, about magic and Hogwarts, and most pointedly, the Statute of Secrecy. They ask him what feels like hundreds of questions, but he answers as openly and patiently as he can, thinking about the shock he experienced when first learning about all this. 

Before leaving, Harry personally hands Shana her acceptance letter, and gives her parents instructions on how to acquire her school supplies. 

“I know this is a lot to process. I’ll send a letter in the next few days, via owl. You can contact me by giving it a letter in response. If you have any other questions, I am happy to answer them.” Mr. and Mrs. Mahdavi both nod, looking overwhelmed but not upset, and Harry looks down to Shana, where she clutches her acceptance letter tightly, “I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts, Shana.” 

She beams at him, and he takes his leave. 

It’s one of the most exhausting things he’s ever done, but the thrill of it makes him happy to have been a part of it. 

*****

Not all of Harry’s visits with families go as swimmingly as the first. He finds that some of the parents are very hard to convince, even with the patronus charm. Some think he’s a con man, others that he has mental health issues, but at least he manages to muddle through without having to _obliviate_ anyone.

It’s in the very last home he visits that Harry gets the worst reaction of all. It’s a little flat right there in London, where a boy named Elliot Collins lives with his father, Robert. Elliot has experienced flares of accidental magic once or twice a year for his whole life, usually manifesting in objects levitating, from what Harry’s read. 

When Harry tells the boy and his father about Elliot’s true nature, Robert looks at him with disgust on his face and spits, “I knew there was something wrong with you.”

It only goes downhill from there. 

It cuts like a knife, the vitriol that spews from the young boy’s father as Harry tries to explain that Elliot is special, that his magic is a gift. Robert doesn’t hear it. 

Harry leaves shortly after arriving, with Elliot in tow. 

This is surely not an approved action for the deputy headmaster to take, but Harry doesn’t have it in him to drop that kind of bomb on an already unstable relationship and just leave. Besides, with that kind of reaction, he has to make sure that Elliot gets his supplies, and makes it to school next week. 

Thinking quickly about how he can help this child, a solution pops into Harry’s mind and in a thankful rush, he grips Elliot’s arm and advises him to hold on tight, then apparates to the Leaky Cauldron.   
  


Elliot handles the experience of apparition with surprising grace, but there’s still a shadow of alarmed amazement on his face.

They sit at a small table near the back of the room, Elliot eyeing the patrons of the pub, surely finding the way they look and act strange. Harry thought so too his first time here. 

“I’m sorry about what your father said to you, Elliot.” Harry sighs softly, drawing the boy’s attention up to his face. 

Shaggy brown hair falls over his eyes and he flicks it away to look up at Harry, shrugging sadly, “He’s said worse.” 

It breaks Harry’s heart at how resigned Elliot is to being spoken down to, being treated like trash. Being treated the way Harry was treated as a child. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Harry insists firmly, “You’re a wizard, you’re very special, and at Hogwarts you’ll meet people who see that.” 

Elliot nods quietly, looking like he doesn’t quite believe Harry, but like he’s too relieved to be away from his father to say anything that might change that. 

Harry sighs and buys dinner for the pair of them, then spends the next hour trying to get his young companion to talk to him as he keeps one eye out for either half of the couple he’s come to see. 

It’s just starting to get late when Hannah and Neville both appear behind the bar, beginning the process of cleaning up for the evening as they chatter happily to one another. Harry grins.

“Elliot, stay just here for a moment, please.” The boy nods, and Harry heads towards the bar, bracing himself to ask for a big favor. 

Neville grins good naturedly at him as Harry approaches, “Harry! I didn’t see you back there. How are you?”

They exchange pleasantries, and Harry wastes no time getting to the point. He explains his new role (“That’s brilliant, mate, congratulations!”), and the encounter with Elliot’s father earlier in the day, then outlines the predicament of feeling unable to send this child back to his home, but also limited on other options. 

The couple shoot surreptitious looks of pity at the boy sitting in the back of their pub and it’s Hannah who cuts Harry off short, “Say no more, he’ll have a room here for the next few nights, and Nev and I can be sure he gets his books and such for school.” 

Harry sags in relief and looks at them both gratefully, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Hannah is already slipping around the bar to go introduce herself to Elliot

“Anytime, Harry,” Neville says emphatically. 


	12. The Healer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no restraint, so here’s a second chapter today!

The Great Hall is already filled with the excited chatter of students fresh from the carriages. They’ve settled into their house tables and are catching up with friends they’ve not seen all summer long. 

Harry, however, stands out in the entrance hall, awaiting the arrival of the first years from their boat trip across the Black Lake. It isn’t long after the carriages stop coming that he sees them, herded up the steps and into the hall by the groundskeeper - Harry feels a twang of missing Hagrid at the sight, and pledges to send him a letter...later. (He really does need to be better at keeping in touch).

For now, he’s looking out over a group of nearly 60 first year students, many of whom he recognizes and many that he does not. He knows the face of every muggleborn he visited the month before, plus a few children of friends. There’s also a very small, very fair girl with a blunt black bob who looks so shockingly like Pansy Parkinson that she must be Violet Warrington. After his experience with Scorpius last year, he very carefully makes no judgement of her. 

Instead, he claps his hands and pulls their attention to him. Despite only hearing it decades ago, Harry can practically remember this speech word-for-word from when Minerva gave it to him. He makes a few tweaks, but launches into a welcome that is very similar to hers. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term feast will begin momentarily, but first, you’ll each be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family while you’re at Hogwarts. You’ll attend classes with your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.” The faces staring up at him share similar looks of fear and excitement. 

“The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has a noble history, and has been home to some of the greatest witches and wizards ever known. There is no house that is right or wrong, just as there is no house that is good or bad. Remember that while your house does not define you, you, and your actions will define your house, for the duration of your time at Hogwarts. Your triumphs and successes will earn your house points, while misbehavior will lose points. The house with the most points at the end of the year will win the coveted House Cup.” 

Mention of the House Cup sends whispers through the group, and Harry allows them a moment of speculation and gossip, until he hears a hush fall over the crowd behind them in the Great Hall. 

“You’ll form a line and follow me, please.” He flicks his wand at the doors, sending them open wide so he can escort the first years inside. 

The sorting hat already sits on its stool in the front of the room, and Harry walks up to stand beside it as it sings its song, something very similar to the one he’d first heard at eleven. 

“When I call your name, just sit on the stool and place the hat on your head. It will announce your house, and you can head to the appropriate table.” 

And so the sorting proceeds. 60 children step up one by one, and 60 children join house tables filled to bursting. Harry is pleased to see Shana immediately find some friends in Ravenclaw, unsurprised to watch Violet Warrington join Slytherin house, and much more surprised when Elliot Collins goes to Slytherin as well. 

Sorting completed, Harry finally makes his way to the staff table and takes the seat left for him at Minerva’s right side. Interestingly enough, the next chair is occupied by the new resident healer and Harry’s….tentative friend? 

Minerva stands and makes a short speech, giving the customary warnings about the forest, and other announcements for the year. “As many of you may know, our dear Madam Pomfrey has elected to retire from service. We will miss her greatly, but I am pleased to announce that Mr. Draco Malfoy will take her place as new chief Healer for Hogwarts.” 

The students applaud politely and Malfoy stands to give a stoic nod before sitting back down. 

Harry, for one, claps loudly and grins at the man, “you could pretend to be excited,” he teases.

Malfoy rolls his eyes, “I’m very excited not to be wearing such an acrid shade of green any longer.”

*****   
  


The fall term begins much like any other...well, except for the fact that it is truly very different from the past decade of fall terms. So the fall term begins much unlike any other, then. 

In fact, Harry finds himself uncommonly, frustratingly, deliriously busy. 

His classes are going as well as possible, with his ten usual OWL-prep sections, plus his 6th and 7th year NEWT courses, for a total of 12. His saving grace in this arena is a gift Hermione gave him this summer at his birthday - a set of enchanted marking quills. 

They are endowed with his personal 1st-5th year curriculum, and each reads and marks essays for him, with the added bonus of checking for cheating, duplications, or miscellaneous charmwork that he or his 7th year teaching assistants might miss. It’s given him much more time to focus on teaching practical lessons, and to dig deeper with his handful of very dedicated NEWT students.

Classes, while crucial, of course, are only one of his duties these days. As Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor House, and the unofficial “Champion for Children with Shite Homes” (Ron’s words), Harry is struggling at times, to keep his head above water. 

He says as much, when he sits down in the surprisingly comfortable wing-back armchair by the fire in the Headmistress’s office. It’s changed quite a bit from the first time Harry was here to see Dumbledore. The portraits of former Heads of the school still live prominently on the walls, however, with Dumbledore himself and Snape both in a place of priority just behind the desk - right now they’re napping and eyeing Harry with disdain, respectively. 

The nicknacks from Dumbledore’s tenure have mostly been removed, some to other places in the castle, some to friends of the Dumbledore family, some to the Ministry, and who knows where else. They’ve dwindled away, along with the scarce impression that Snape left, leaving behind a space that is somehow both minimal and cosy, stern and welcoming. 

It’s very fitting for Minerva, who sits in an identical chair across from Harry and sips herbal tea while considering his words. “You have taken on a great deal of additional responsibility this year, Harry. It’s not unreasonable to be overwhelmed by that.”

He nods, taking a sip of his own tea and gazing at the fire to contemplate. 

“It wouldn’t be a disservice to the school should you find you need to relinquish some of your duties to another staff member.”

That notion sends a wave of shame curling through him. He only took the deputy job a few months ago, and already she’s asking him to reconsider? The extra meetings, extra patrol duty, extra expectations with the students, responsibilities to the school and its staff…It was a lot but he didn’t  _ not want  _ it. These regular meetings with Minerva have given him a chance to reflect on the experience, and he’s found that he enjoys it more than he expected. 

He likes to learn more about the history of the school, the administrative work involved with maintaining a full staff of witches and wizards, as well as the coven of house elves that live and work in the castle. He likes knowing that his own observations were right: the school’s population has been rising steadily since the war and has finally levelled off. And as terrified as he was the very first time, he even has an appreciation for those times that the headmistress leaves Hogwarts in its entirety in his care while she travels to the Ministry, to meetings of the Board of Governors, or anywhere else that takes her from the grounds. 

“Headmistress, I didn’t mean- I’ve only been your deputy since July.  I’ll get used to it. I’ll find the balance.”

He looks up at her with determined eyes, only to find amusement there. 

“The deputy position is not what I meant, professor. It took a year to get you into the job, I won’t boot you from it so quickly. Especially not after the good will your selection won me with the board.” This comment is accompanied by what can only be called a smirk, and Harry feigns an appalled gasp, masking his relief that he’s not being sacked already. 

“With all due seriousness, Harry, you are in a situation that would be unprecedented, were I myself not the precedent,” she sets her teacup down on the small table between them and straightens back up, “before I was the first to do so, no member of the faculty served simultaneously as Deputy Head of the school  _ and _ a Head of House.”

Huh. Harry thinks about that for a moment, realizing that he never found it to be strange that Minerva might be both. That was all he ever had cause to know. If she’d done it all that time...with war lingering over their heads, well, he could do it too, right?

“That said, you are involved with our student body in ways that I never have been. Champion for Children with….unfortunate circumstances, was it?” Her smile is fond and Harry only feels a little chagrined for letting that title slip in his earlier ranting. “It’s good that you are. It’s the very reason I think you can do well. Do  _ good _ , for Hogwarts, and for those children.”

Harry nods thoughtfully, pained at the obvious conclusion, “You’d like me to step down as Head of Gryffindor.” 

“I’d like you to carefully consider how you can best help our students, without sacrificing your own wellbeing. One cannot pour from an empty goblet, as they say.”

“I’ll take it into consideration, Headmistress,” he promises, actually intending to do so, even if his heart hurts at the thought of giving up the Gryffindor Quidditch team...would he have to move quarters? A question for another time, it seems, as Minerva has resituated herself and moved onto other topics. 

The purpose of tonight's meeting is to discuss the protocols put in place by the Board of Governors after the war to review the performance of the Hogwarts teaching staff. Or at least, it had been, before Harry decided to respond honestly to Minerva’s pleasantries and tell her truthfully how he was doing. 

Over the years it became all too easy to do. The Headmistress is essentially the last mentor he has that can come close to understanding him. Harry is reminded again how thankful he is for the relationship he’s built with his former teacher. 

They talk through the faculty review process, tweak the curfew patrol schedule, and set chaperone duties for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekends. The sun has long set by the point that Minerva offers a cursory reminder to be considering 4th year students to recommend for prefect selections and then fixes Harry with a look he doesn’t recognize. 

“Now then, tell me about Healer Malfoy.”

Harry’s brow furrows in confusion, “What?”

“He’s been on staff for approaching two months now. How has he settled in?”

When Harry continues to squint at her in confusion she gives him a pointed look.

“You spend more time with our resident healer than anyone else on staff. Mealtimes, your near-daily visits to the hospital wing, surely he’s spoken to you about it.”

Harry’s neck flushes a little, he didn’t realize it was so obvious how much time he spends around Malfoy these days. 

“Oh, um. Yes. Yeah, he’s settled in well,” Harry assesses truthfully. 

Feeling at home at Hogwarts is one thing: most of the British wizarding community can say they feel comfortable here, or they did at one point or another. It is another thing entirely to step into shoes as big as Poppy Pomfrey’s and thrive. 

And thrive is just what Malfoy has done. The Hospital Wing felt like his domain from the moment he took control of it, tending to ill and injured students with precision and care. He’s made friends among the staff, and he even has good rapport with the students - many of the repeat offenders here at Hogwarts were patients of his at St. Mungos from their years before school or their summer escapades. 

And yes, maybe he’s been spending a fair bit of time with Harry. 

Maybe Harry has been spending a lot of time with him. 

Maybe Harry makes a point to visit each and every student that ends up in the infirmary. It’s good form, isn’t it? He’s actively trying to be more mindful of the students outside of Gryffindor, part of his new duties and all. So what if that means he ends up seeing Malfoy? Harry’s gotten used to chatting with him while watching him work, even occasionally lending a hand under Draco’s gentle instruction when something particularly nasty pops up. 

They’ve found an easy peace with one another. They get along quite well and Draco is interesting to talk to, pleasant to share a meal with...pleasant enough that sometimes he’s  _ Draco _ now, rather than Malfoy. 

One could call it friendship, probably. 

Minerva’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, “Very well. I’ll admit with your history I was dubious about how welcoming you would be to him, but I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

There’s a knowing look on her face, and Harry doesn’t know what to make of it.

“He’s not the child he once was,” he answers simply. 

“None of us are, professor.”

*****

Harry’s feet take him the familiar path down the corridors to the hospital wing before he knows what he’s doing. It’s dark, but not terribly late. A few students still wander about the castle, not yet in a hurry to be in their common rooms by curfew. 

Malfoy’s back is to the door as he rearranges a rack of potions on the wall. The pristine emerald robes draped around him bring a flush to Harry’s cheeks as he remembers the letter he tossed into the fire months ago, and the dream that followed. He was right. Malfoy does look stunning in emerald. 

Which….is an entirely normal thing for a friend to think, surely?

There are a few students in the beds along the walls, one napping, another playing wizards chess with a friend while yet another seems transfixed on writing what looks like an ancient runes essay. 

“Are you just here to linger ominously in the doorway, then?” Malfoy’s voice is soft, but carries. The studying student looks up at the sound, but quickly dismisses the men to refocus on their notes.

Harry scowls as he crosses the room to where Draco continues stocking his shelves with freshly brewed potions without so much as a glance up when Harry declares, “I’m not ominous.”

“So you admit to the lingering.” 

Harry wants to punch him a little bit, but a flash of white teeth and amused grey eyes leeches the heat from that desire as Malfoy pauses his efforts to look up at him.

“Visiting. Visiting is not the same as lingering.”

Draco glances pointedly to the four students spread throughout the room, all of them clearly disinterested in visitors. Harry’s already been in to chat with each of them anyway. 

“Tell me,” Draco lowers his voice for only Harry to hear and leans in closer as though sharing a secret, “is it sad for you when they stop being in awe of the ground you walk on?”

The desire to punch him returns. 

With it comes a flutter in his chest at the proximity, the self-satisfied look on Draco’s face and the way his long eyelashes are darker blonde at the roots and nearly white at the tips…

Harry clears his throat and thinks friendly thoughts. Friendly, banter-y thoughts. “More of a relief really,” he says, affecting a thoughtful tone, “Probably quite like they feel getting to leave here and not see your pointy face anymore.” 

It’s weak, but has the intended effect. Malfoy scowls at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes which sparkle with amusement. “My pointy face doesn’t seem to bother  _ you _ .”

“I’ve built up a tolerance.” 

Harry only just hears the “ _ tolerance, my arse _ ” that Malfoy mutters under his breath, and catches the soft smile that is directed at the floor rather than Harry. 

“Haven’t you a patrol to prepare for?” Draco tucks the last phial of potion into its spot on the shelf and looks at him properly, the subject successfully changed.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groans, “If I catch your son out after curfew again,  _ you _ can deal with him.”

Malfoy laughs, “But  _ you’re _ his Head of House.”

“For now.” The words are out on a sigh before Harry can plan for them.

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up, “What?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, glances at his watch, “I’ll tell you over breakfast?”

The offer doesn’t seem to entirely appease him, but Malfoy nods. “Breakfast, then. Have a nice night, Potter.”

“Goodnight, Draco.”


	13. The Quidditch Match

October brings the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. It’s a big one for Harry for a couple of reasons. Not only is it the first match that Rose will play for her house team (she’s a brilliant chaser, like her Aunt), but also the first match since Harry relinquished his post as Head of Gryffindor house.

After he mentioned the possibility to Malfoy that evening in the hospital wing, the pair discussed it the following morning as promised. 

It was Draco who pointed out that a head of house needs to be biased in some ways to be effective, which isn’t conducive to the kind of Deputy Headmaster Harry wants to be. Draco also fondly teased him that he’d have more time to dedicate to promoting inter-house relations and school unity. 

Harry was only just beginning to come to terms with how much he valued Malfoy’s opinion of things - that solidified when his unlikely companion reminded him that giving up the post didn’t mean giving up Gryffindor, or any of his students. 

He notified Minerva of his decision a few days later, then passed the torch to Dean just last week. 

So today Harry finds himself in the staff box rather than the Gryffindor stands, with his Hogwarts crest pin on at his chest and one of his new cloaks pulled around him. The fabric is rich navy, with warming charms woven in, and it sets a contrast to the Gryffindor gear he typically wears for a match. Today is about setting a new precedent, and he feels mostly comfortable with it. 

Dean is at his left side, knees bouncing up and down with nerves - he never played Quidditch himself, but it was the Head of House’s job to advise the team. Harry knows he must be anxious about them today. 

“You have a strong team, they’ll do great,” he offers quietly with a subtle grin. 

Dean looks over at him, smiling tensely, “Thanks, Harry. I’ve not got much to do with it really, you helped them put the team together but…”

“I’ve been nervous about every match they’ve played for the past ten years.” Harry laughs and shoves Dean’s shoulder jovially, “Still am. Not just when Gryffindor plays, but all of them.”

There’s a nod of understanding there, “Hard not to start caring for them.”

“Even the most badly behaved of them,” Harry commiserates with a soft chuckle. 

Dean laughs just as the teams emerge from their changing rooms in dual blurs of crimson and canary. 

The stands explode with cheers and the match begins. 

Harry finds that he enjoys the experience nearly as much here with the staff as he does with the students in their stands. He still cheers and bellows loudly for his team, because head of house or not, it’ll always be  _ his _ team. Today he’s also a proud uncle, so he’ll use that excuse too. 

The game rages on, both teams neck and neck as Hufflepuff performs with a veracity that Harry hadn’t expected. They have a reputation for being a relatively gentle team, their strategies centered around distance and distraction rather than physicality. This year they’ve pulled out the stops. 

There’s hardly a blink between the moment that Harry’s admiring the strength and accuracy of the new Hufflepuff beater and the moment that he realizes that her strength and accuracy just sent a bludger towards an unsuspecting Rose. 

Time seems to slow as he watches the nasty iron ball rocket towards its target and Harry is on his feet before the impact. The bludger hits home at the small of Rose’s back, disrupting her balance and tossing her from her broom, directly into the center goalpost. She collides with a sickening smack loud enough for Harry to hear even from his spot near the center of the pitch. She’s still conscious as she falls, one arm trying to grab the post to slow her momentum while the other flails uselessly, and Harry begins to panic. She’s falling, and he can’t reach her. There’s no way he can cast a strong enough spell from this distance, and there’s no time to move closer.

He’s considering drastic options like  _ throwing himself from the box _ to reach her when a fellow Gryffindor player swoops deftly between the posts and snags Rose’s arm, pulling her awkwardly onto their own broom. 

A wave of relief crashes over Harry, but a pained cry from Rose has him taking the stairs down to the pitch two at a time until he reaches her where she lay on the grass, arm cradled to her chest and face screwed up in pain. 

The match has paused and both teams touch down, the Gryffindors gathering around Rose and the beater that caught her. Harry pushes between them to kneel at her side, tentatively reaching out to touch the crown of her head. 

“Harry, it hurts,” she whimpers upon seeing him. 

His heart seizes. 

“I know Rosie, I know. You’re going to be okay, we’re going to fix you up.” There’s a cheery sureness in his voice that isn’t genuine, but Rose is likely too distracted by her pain to notice that. 

Drawing on what little field healing he remembers from his Auror training, Harry casts stasis and numbing charms on his niece then gently slides one arm under her knees and the other beneath her back to lift her carefully from the pitch as the pain temporarily subsides and she relaxes. 

He nods to the rest of the team as he turns towards the castle, reassuring them, Rose, and himself that she’s going to be just fine. 

Dean has followed him down to the pitch and is staring at him with a mix of horror and guilt, “It’s quidditch. These things happen,” Harry reminds him softly, “and your team needs a pep talk if they’re going to finish this match.” 

The students in question have closed ranks near where Rose landed and are huddled together, conversing quietly, and throwing concerned glances in their direction. Harry tilts his head encouragingly in their direction and resumes his trek to the castle, a blissfully sedate 12 year old in his arms. 

  
  


*****

  
  


The hospital wing is quiet and empty when Harry pushes the door open, and Draco is at his side in an instant, a calm and collected presence, gesturing Harry to a nearby bed.

“Minerva sent her patronus ahead of you. She was hit by a bludger?” 

Harry nods, placing Rose on the indicated bed. “She’s under stasis to protect any breaks in transit and a numbing charm for the pain.” 

Draco is already pushing the sleeves of his robes up to his elbows and leaning over Rose to examine her. “That’s good, I can work with that. We’ll need to get these off,” he indicates the leather bracers on her arms with his chin, deft fingers already working at the laces of the right one.

Harry follows suit, untying the left bracer with a little more clumsiness, but gently pulling it off a moment later, then helping Draco peel back the long outer robe, leaving Rose in just the trousers and jersey of her quidditch uniform. 

He doesn’t let himself look at the crumpled  _ GRANGER-WEASLEY _ on the back of the robe as it’s cast aside, instead focusing on Draco as he draws his wand from his own robes and leans over the bed to address Rose. 

“I’ll have to remove the stasis and numbing charms to fix you up, alright? The pain is going to come back but I need you to try your best to be still.”

It's slow and clear, a voice clearly practised at speaking to those in pain or, like Rose, loopy from the side effects of medi-charms. 

Rose blinks slowly a couple of times, then nods, putting on a brave face. 

Draco doesn’t waste any time, and waves a  _ finite incantatem _ over his patient. His face of caring professionalism doesn’t falter even as an agonized gasp falls from Rose’s lips, threatening to tear Harry to pieces. 

If anything, he’s more solid than before, like the very concept of this young girl’s pain spurs him to steadfastly fulfill his purpose. 

From here, there’s little Harry can do but watch, so that's what he does. He stays close by Rose’s bedside as Draco casts a series of diagnostic spells, talking levely to the both of them as he goes. He identifies heavy bruising on her back from the bludger, remarking that she’s very lucky to have no damage to her spine. In a burst of purple he heals the bruises like he’s casting a first year charm. 

Harry watches as the skin that has just started to mottle with red and purple fades back to warm brown, though Rose hardly seems to notice a difference. She’s fisting the bedsheets with her good hand and whimpers in pain as Draco’s fingers fall to inspect the rest of her injuries. A shower of silver mist from his wand settles in lines along her upper arm, her elbow, her wrist, and shimmers like spiderwebs over two of her fingers. 

“Fractures, mostly,” Draco explains, examining the thicker line just under Rose’s shoulder, “And one full break. We’ll have you out of here in a flap of a snitch’s wings.” He tells her cheerily, raising his wand again. A look of concentration crosses his face as he mutters “ _ brackium emendo,” _ which sends a splinter of nausea through Harry, but seems to heal Rose with ease. 

An  _ episkey  _ or five later, Draco is bustling around the room and Harry drops into the chair beside his niece, the adrenaline quickly fading. “How do you feel?” he asks her softly.

“I’m okay.” She sits up and peers towards the windows that face the grounds, “Do you know what happened in the match?” 

Harry can’t help but laugh, her mother might not approve of her priorities, but Rose is obviously fine. “I’ve been here with you. I’m sure they put the reserve in.” At the dark look on her face he quickly adds, “But you’ll be back out there next match. You’re not a real quidditch player until you fall off your broom, anyway.” He winks at her as Draco strides back over.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t promote students winding up in my hospital wing on purpose, professor Potter.” His tone is severe, but there’s a crinkle of amusement around his eyes. “Alright Miss Granger-Weasley, you’re going to be a little sore. Take this now,” he hands her an open phial and a glass of water, watching as she downs them both, “and this one is for later, before bed.” He looks over to Harry, “Pain potion. Fewer side-effects than a numbing charm, no dizziness, no dissociation.” 

It’s at this point that the doors to the hospital wing burst open again and a mass of Gryffindors swarm in, including the entire team and Rose’s friends, who Harry is delighted to see include Scorpius these days. They’re chatting and laughing, the players in obvious good spirits even under the sweat and grime from their match. 

Rose perks up at their collective good mood, “We won?!” she calls to them, and the team erupts into cheers. She jumps out of the bed to run to them, stopping short to look pleadingly between Harry and Draco, “Can I go?” 

Harry shrugs and defers to Draco, who smiles and hands over the second phial of potion. “Before bed. Don’t forget or you’ll regret it in the morning. Now shoo.” He waves her off, an amused look on his face. 

Rose turns to leave but stops short again to look at Harry, her face suddenly serious. “Please don’t tell mum,” she implores him. 

“Oh I am absolutely going to tell your mum,” he replies with a laugh, shaking his head at her scowl, “but I’ll wait until tonight to send the owl. Go, celebrate with your team.” 

He’s rewarded with a bright smile and a quick hug before she’s off like a flash, into the giddy huddle of her teammates who embrace her in turns as they head off, likely to the Gryffindor common room to celebrate. 

“Resilient, children.” Is all Draco says, vanishing the empty phial and glass, and setting about sanitizing the now vacant bed. 

“They are,” Harry muses, thinking about the time that Teddy tumbled down the front steps of Grimmauld just after he started walking, cracking his head open and sending Harry, all of 19 years old, into a spiral of panic. A slow  _ vulnera sanentur  _ from Ginny set him to rights, and he toddled off into the yard, as though nothing happened. 

After a moment of quiet thought, Harry realizes that Draco has stopped working and stands near the end of the bed, watching him. 

When Harry meets his eyes, a blonde eyebrow lifts slightly, “Tea?”

He’s headed towards his office before Harry can respond, so there’s little to do but follow him. 

Draco’s office is light and clean, sanitary, like one would expect of part of an infirmary. There’s a sturdy desk of blonde wood, free from clutter, with little more than a quill, inkwell, and stack of parchment upon it. There are drawers filled with files - students and their medical histories, surely - against one wall, and a fireplace set into the other, with a dish of floo powder on the mantle. A grand glass-front cabinet sits behind the desk, the bottom shelves filled with healing reference texts, and the top with the more valuable and volatile potions and elixirs. Harry can feel the magic of the wards on its doors from across the room. 

Harry’s been in here before, enough to know that it’s mostly unchanged from when Poppy occupied the space, Draco’s healer’s license even hangs on the wall where hers once did. Interestingly, Draco doesn’t stop here, but proceeds to a nondescript wooden door in the corner and places his palm in the center. A ward shifts and the door opens. 

Beyond it are Draco’s quarters. Harry tentatively follows him inside, knowing as he does that one’s rooms at Hogwarts can be quite personal, considering the magic that caters to the occupant’s needs. 

He’s expecting opulence: high ceilings, regal furniture, and fine art in gilded frames. Instead he’s faced with something that one might consider...rustic. 

The classic stone walls of Hogwarts are, in fact, accented with a vaulted ceiling, but barn-like rafters fill the space and anchor a simple chandelier of tiered wooden rings lined with candles. The floor is covered in a vast rug of cream-colored fur, while a rich espresso sofa and chairs are dotted with tartan throw pillows of pale cornflower, muted aubergine and off-white. 

An old trunk serves as a coffee table, a small collection of well-worn novels spread across it, and the mantle, like Harry’s own, is home to a series of moving photographs. Narcissa and Lucius stand primly in one, Scorpius appears several times at various ages, including once on the lap of a pretty brunette that Harry doesn’t recognize. She laughs at the camera and something uncertain coils in his stomach as he realizes this must be Astoria. 

He looks away sharply to see that Draco has moved into what could only be considered a dining nook, where a curved wall of windows looks out over the lake and allows space for a table - which Harry suspects might actually be an old barn door - with sturdy benches along each side for seating. 

On the table is a full tea service that may or may not have been there moments ago. Draco watches him, carefully casual, with only the hint of apprehension in his eyes. 

“I like your rooms.” Harry offers, snapping out of his observations. 

“Thank you. Sugar?”

A nod. 

“I’ll be interested to hear from Dean about the rest of the match,” Harry muses, trying to shake off the unexpected intimacy of being here in Draco’s personal space.

“Regardless of the ending, it was a good match to me. Only one student knocked from a broom. Unprecedented.”

Harry takes the proffered cup of tea and they both lean against the edge of the table, gazing out at the lake where a ripple in the distance hints at the giant squid lurking there. 

“Not to mention I got to enjoy you busting in here all savior-like,” Draco continues teasingly as Harry scowls, “carrying that girl all the way from the pitch when I’ve got a perfectly good set of floating gurneys on standby.”

Gurneys? Harry didn’t know about those. 

“Sod off, she’s family, I have to look out for her,” he grumbles into his teacup, though a flush warms his cheeks as Draco eyes him with...no, not appreciation, that’s not right...is it? Maybe it is.

Possible appreciation gives way to a look of blatant fondness, “You do quite a wonderful job of that.”

“I just carried her up here, you’re the one that fixed her.”

“It’s not just her, of course,” Draco tuts softly as though Harry hasn’t said anything, turning to face Harry fully and gazing at him thoughtfully “I used to think it was all an act but you really do care about people. People who need someone to care about them most of all.”

Harry is beyond used to flattery and compliments by now, but there’s something in Draco’s voice that tells him this isn’t that. His face warms. He shifts to see his companion better, setting his untouched tea on the table and smiling, “You’re one to talk, healer of children, caretaker for the vulnerable.” It’s meant to be a bit of a tease, but comes out in all seriousness, because Harry means it. 

“It’s quite selfish, really. Makes me feel like a better person.” Malfoy gazes down at his feet. 

Harry studies him for a long time. Thinking about all the things he’s learned about Draco over the past year. The way he’s raised his son to think about blood status, the good works he’s done to make up for the negativity he once put into the world, the care he’s shown for the students at Hogwarts, for Harry’s own family.

“Aren’t you, though?”

A beat of silence, then Draco looks up and...when did he get so close? Harry can see the ombre of his eyelashes again, the blue-ish flecks in pewter eyes. If he were to lean forward they would be...

“Aren’t I..?”

Harry chuckles breathily, “A better person.”

Draco sucks in a sharp breath, a flush creeping up his neck and a mix of fear and determination in his eyes, like he’s steeling himself for something. 

“Merlin, I hope so.”

And then he leans forward, and Harry doesn’t move away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, it only took 13 chapters for them to kiss 🤷🏻♀️


	14. The Aftermath

After their kiss, an exhilarating dance begins between Draco and Harry. 

Shortly after the first time, Harry excused himself, hot and cold and fit to burst with excitement and newness and joy. 

He spent the rest of that evening trying to draft a letter to Hermione, then Ginny, seeking advice, needing to say  _ something _ to  _ someone _ about the way his world had just shifted and everything felt different from a single touch. 

Then he realized he sounded like a nutter and finally gave up to gaze at the fire with a silly grin, fingers occasionally going to his lips to relive the gentle press of soft and warm and bergamot sweet. 

Which is a much saner way to spend his time. 

From there, things begin to fall into place.

Even before the kiss Harry spent nearly all of his mealtimes with Draco, and that doesn’t change, except it does. Lunch in the great hall filled with polite conversation about work and the weather, becomes lunch in Harry’s office, or dinner in Draco’s rooms, and discussions about their days, their students, their likes and their dislikes, their hopes and fears, and everything in between. 

Draco shares with Harry his enthusiasm for muggle mystery novels, of which he has rows and rows on a bookshelf in his bedroom, and his love of baking biscuits and other sweets, despite being irredeemably bad at it. Harry talks of his interest in wandlore, and how he’s always thought wand-making would be a fascinating trade to learn. He shares stories of Teddy growing up, what it was like to raise a child in his early twenties, and Draco opens up about unexpectedly becoming a single father, being on his own with Scorpius and having to accept help from his parents despite their differences. 

And of course, the kissing. There’s more of that. It’s sweet and languid as they lay on Draco’s couch, like they have all the time in the world, or it’s quick and chaste in a hidden alcove, behind a tapestry as a fond hello, or it’s searing and dirty against the locked door of Harry’s office like they’re starving for it.

Yeah. Much more kissing. And zero complaints from either of them. 

Something new and solid blossoms between them, private and precious and carefully out of sight, behind closed doors...but it floods the castle in a way that is catching, and whispers begin to follow them in the corridors, while curious eyes study them in the great hall. 

This is what is on Harry’s mind as they share silence in his quarters, Harry at the table, distractedly marking his 6th years’ essays on recognizing and resisting the imperious curse while Draco is curled up on one side of the sofa, lost in the pages of  _ Murder on the Orient Express _ (which makes Harry very glad that they don’t have to take the train back and forth to Hogwarts any longer). 

“Do you think the students know about us?” he asks, dropping his quill and shifting to study Draco’s profile, grey eyes moving rapidly across the page. 

“Hmm?” is the distracted response he gets, and he can’t help his fond smile. 

“Oh, look, there’s a Catalonian Fireball doing cartwheels on the grounds.”

“That’s nice.”

Harry would be annoyed if he didn’t find it so endearing the way books swept Draco away to another time and place. 

“Draco!” he says sharply, getting up to join him on the sofa, sitting close enough to drop a hand on one pale bony ankle.

“Oi, your hands are cold!” he finally looks up from the book, seeming surprised to see Harry next to him, even after the contact that broke his concentration.

Harry just laughs, “pay attention to me.” 

Draco gives him a scorching look, but sets the book aside and stretches out, dropping his bare feet into Harry’s lap. “You’re very needy for a savior, aren’t you?“ he teases, but gives Harry his full attention.

Harry grins at him, though it’s laced with a hint of concern. He repeats his question, “Do you think the students know? That we’re….?”

He gets a smirk in response, “That we’re what? Necking in the corridors?” 

Harry sputters a little, frowning at that summary of what’s happening between them. “That’s- I wouldn’t call it…. _ that.” _

A blonde eyebrow lifts sardonically, “Very eloquent, Potter. Tell me, what would you call it?” 

He’s just giving Harry a hard time now. 

“Ahh...er - dating?” he tries, dimly aware that this is actually an important conversation..one that might even be overdue. 

Draco snorts, “I think dating requires, well,  _ dates.  _ And a house elf bringing us dinner in your quarters isn’t a date.”

“Do you want to go on a date? We can go on a date. Dates. I can do that. Out of the castle. Away from….Yeah. We can uh-”

“Harry. Calm down, it’s fine. No, I don’t think that the students know we are romantically involved. You tosser.” 

Insult notwithstanding, this sends a shiver of delight through Harry,  _ romantically involved.  _ Is that what this is?

“They stare at us, though. And whisper.”

“We’re both very interesting.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, Harry absently massaging Draco’s feet, aware of Draco’s eyes still on him as he looks down. 

“So you don’t want to go on a date?”

Draco gives him a smile and chuckles softly. “I wouldn’t say no, but it’s not a big deal, Harry, I was only teasing. Besides, 38 is a little old to need big gestures, don’t you think? You already impress me enough.” 

That sentiment warms Harry, but he’s not entirely appeased. “What are you doing this weekend?” 

“Chaperoning in Hogsmeade. Like you assigned me.” He’s kind enough to leave the, ‘You daft wanker’ off the end, but it’s in his tone anyway. 

Undeterred, Harry smiles, “Perfect. The Three Broomsticks, 8’o’clock Saturday.” 

Draco shakes his head in exasperation, but he looks pleased. “It’s a date.” The words are only just tinted with sarcasm. 

  
  


*****

  
  


By dinnertime on Saturday night, Harry has managed to try on and discard at least half of his wardrobe before settling on a smart pair of black trousers and a soft cream colored jumper over a charcoal shirt. A thick burgundy cloak keeps the snowy December chill at bay, and his hair….well he’s tried, but it looks the same as always. 

For some reason, despite sharing nearly every meal for over a month with Draco, Harry is nervous about tonight. He’s had very few first dates, and never one that went very well, save Ginny. He tries to remind himself that those bad first dates were with strangers (and the one disastrous trip to Madam Pudifoots with Cho, but that was an  _ entirely _ singular experience).

This is his first date with Draco Malfoy. He gives himself a moment to just sit with the awe of that fact. Dating  _ Draco Malfoy. _ Who would have ever guessed that one? Certainly not Harry. Part of him wishes he could go back and tell fifteen year old Harry that far stranger things would happen in his love life than an awful lunch with Cho Chang. 

By eight, the crowd at The Three Broomsticks has thinned, and Harry has already secured a table in the back when the door swings open, letting in a burst of icy air and a tall thin figure bundled in a cloak of rich navy. 

Draco pulls his hood down and his eyes find Harry immediately. His cloak falls open to reveal casual robes in slate blue that set off his silvery eyes and rosy chill bitten cheeks. Between that and the flakes of snow dotting his cloak and clinging to his fine fringe, he looks nearly ethereal to Harry, who smiles, wide and pure. 

As Draco reaches the table, Harry stands and pulls the chair out for him.

“Hi. You look stunning,” he breathes, briefly pressing his palm to Draco’s lower back, barely resisting the urge to greet him with a kiss instead. Unfortunately there are still a few older students about, with another hour until their curfew, and if the pair have managed to keep a bit of secrecy regarding their relationship, Harry would like to keep it that way. 

Draco gives a mildly impressed look, sheds his cloak, and sits in the offered chair, eyes roving over Harry as he reclaims his own seat. “Thank you. Your arse looks delightful in those trousers.”

Harry nearly chokes on his own tongue, but laughs as he recovers himself. “Thanks.”

There’s a moment that neither of them speak, and Harry feels a jolt of panic that they somehow don’t have anything to talk about anymore. Maybe he read too much into what they were doing. Maybe it was just the forced proximity inherent in their live-where-you-work lifestyle that even gave them reason to do anything at all. Maybe the bond they’ve built is limited to the castle and outside of those walls the easy spark of it all is gone.

Then Draco smiles at him and leans back in his chair, resting his hands in his lap. “How was your day?”

And that’s so mundane and every-day that it sets Harry immediately at ease. 

“It was relaxing. Finally finished marking those imperious essays and got a little time to read that book on sustainable dragon heartstring harvesting…”

They fall into conversation as easily as ever, only pausing to order their food, which arrives with two lowballs of firewhiskey ‘ _ on the house!’ _ Harry grins sheepishly at that, but Draco just shrugs and sips at one, returning to his story of the student who slipped on the ice and cracked their head right in front of him earlier in the day. 

“It was just a slight concussion, the real problem was his little girlfriend who was hysterical, I had to  _ silencio _ her first to concentrate long enough to heal the bloke’s head.”

Harry laughs, “Well I suppose the staff at Hogwarts have done much worse than a  _ silencio _ to students in the past.”

Draco grimaces at that, and Harry knows in an instant what incident he’s thinking about, before he even mutters, “bloody mad imposter,” with a shudder. 

The bright laughter bubbles out of Harry without permission and he apologizes immediately, though the twinkle of amusement doesn’t leave his eyes. “For what it’s worth, you make an adorable ferret.” 

He gets a cutting glare for that comment, but it opens the door for them to reminisce about their school days, Harry telling stories of the DA, and Ron and Hermione’s sophomoric antics as they sorted their feelings for each other while Draco recalls playing silly teenage games in the Slytherin common room with Blaise, Pansy, and the rest, melancholy lacing his tone all the while. 

They eat and they talk, and it’s lovely, even if Harry desperately wishes he could reach out and touch him without worry. 

Patrons filter in and out of the pub, the students slowly trailing back to the castle as their allotted time in the village wanes. Harry doesn’t pay much attention to the coming and going until a figure he’d recognize anywhere - regardless of his shifting appearance - bustles in out of the cold. 

Teddy’s eyes are a dark brown and his hair longer than usual, in a deep magenta just like his mother used to favor. He catches sight of Harry and grins. Harry’s warm smile is a reflex. Draco peers behind him to learn who Harry looks so pleased to see. 

A moment later, Teddy’s at their table, and Harry gets up to hug him, squeezing him tightly and murmuring his hellos, he settles back down and looks to Draco, “This is my godson, Teddy. Teddy this is Draco Malfoy, he ah- the new healer at Hogwarts this year.”

Draco doesn’t notice the fumble in Harry’s words - or he pretends not to - and smiles genuinely at Teddy, offering a handshake, “And your cousin, actually. I’ve heard a lot about you, Teddy.”

Teddy smiles back, looking between Draco and Harry for a moment before shaking the offered hand, “All lies, probably, I was a brilliant and entirely manageable child,” he claims good naturedly. Harry watches as his eyes slowly lighten from brown to grey, mimicking the shade of Draco’s, a reflex at meeting new people that he never really grew out of. 

“I’m sure. Especially with your gift, raising you must have been effortless.” There’s an amused levity in his voice and Teddy smirks. It warms Harry to see them interact so pleasantly. “Would you like to sit?” Draco politely indicates an empty chair. 

After a moment of hesitation, Teddy shrugs, “Just for a moment, wouldn’t want to impose.” 

Draco is opening his mouth to reply when a bright silver cat leaps through the window and up onto their table. It speaks to Draco in McGonagall’s voice, her exasperated tone all too familiar as she explains that he’s needed in the infirmary to tend to a student who drank a poorly brewed potion. 

“Duty calls,” Draco sighs, giving Harry an apologetic look as he stands from the table and gathers his cloak. “It was lovely to meet you, Teddy, I hope we’ll have the chance to speak at length one of these days.” 

Teddy nods, and Harry moves to get up, “Do you want me to walk with you?” he offers, disappointed that their date is being cut short, as is his plan to walk Draco back to his quarters, kiss him goodnight, and then some. 

“No, no, stay,” he gestures to the half full firewhiskey on the table, “finish your drink, catch up with your godson. I’ll see you later.”

Harry frowns, but nods. “I’ll stop by to, uh, check on that student before I turn in.”

A smile from Draco and then he’s gone in a swish of slate and navy. 

When he turns back to his godson, Harry finds Teddy fixing him with a gleeful look that he doesn’t care to try interpreting. 

“How’s Victoire?” he asks instead.

“Wonderful. She’s in London with Fleur trying on wedding dresses and eh, some other wedding stuff.” 

Harry laughs, but Teddy doesn’t let him get a word in. “I want to talk about you though. When did  _ that _ happen?”

“When did what happen?” 

Harry does his best bemused expression and Teddy looks at him flatly, pinkish eyebrows raised.

“When did you start dating my cousin that I’ve never met?” 

Well so much for being subtle. “How did you know we were…?”

He only gets a laugh and an ‘are you kidding me?’ look. 

Harry sighs and tips back his glass of firewhiskey. “Few weeks ago.”

A beat of silence. 

“So is he gonna be my new mommy?” 

Harry groans. “You’re grounded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I’ll actually write a fic where Harry is a wand maker because I’m obsessed with that concept *dreamy sigh*


	15. The Truth Will Out

When the winter holidays roll around once more, Harry is delighted to learn that Scorpius has asked Draco if they can stay at Hogwarts for Christmas.

“He had a good time last year,” Draco shrugs, taking a bite of his sandwich and peering out his office window to ensure that his patients are still sleeping or otherwise occupied, “I can’t deny that a week running around the castle with his friends is probably more appealing than a week in London with his dad,” he grimaces, “certainly more appealing than Christmas Day at Malfoy Manor.”

Harry tilts his head, “Scorpius loves to spend time with you,” he protests, shifting forward in the wooden chair he conjured up across from Draco’s desk for lunch. He knows all too well how different it is to be around all the time, when other kids’ parents didn’t see them for months out of the year. 

“Oh, I know it’s more about his friends than about me. I can’t be upset about it either, since he  _ has _ friends.” They both know that Draco worried about Scorpius making friends at school in the beginning, especially after being sorted into Gryffindor, but he quickly came into himself, after a little nudging along. 

At all of twelve years old he is every bit as mischievous as the next kid, but Harry can see the Slytherin streak in him too. He is certain that the younger Gryffindor boys are to blame for a string of pranks involving puking pastilles in the pumpkin juice at breakfast, but no one has been able to trace it back to them. 

Last year, before Scorpius came out of his shell, Harry regularly caught the very same boys in the middle of some stunt or another. He is sure Scorpius was the missing piece of their little group of marauders, both bold enough to point out the flaws in their plans and cunning enough to help improve them. Harry’s equal parts frustrated and amused by it, depending on whether you ask him as the Deputy Headmaster, or as James Potter’s son. 

“Does he know that Lorcan and Lysander are going home this year?” Harry thinks of last Christmas, and how the twins spent the latter half of the week at Scorpius’s bedside, talking about merpeople and making plans to visit them in the Black Lake when he was well. 

Draco nods, “Yes, he was disappointed about that, but there’s something about a handful of 4th years that plan to make a snow castle on the grounds and he got very excited again.” 

He’s exasperated but fond, and Harry grins, “Probably good for you to be around then, I don’t know if our students’ architectural skills are to be trusted...who knows what could happen.”

“Ah, yes, exactly how I’d like to spend the hols, treating frostbite and crush injuries.” Draco shakes his head then becomes thoughtful, looking up at Harry with a tentative look that means he’s about to say something important. “I thought maybe we could- You, and Scorpius, and I, could have a meal, the three of us. I know we have the feast with the students for Christmas dinner, and you’ll have lunch at the Weasleys’ beforehand, but I thought, perhaps, if you were so inclined, we could spend Christmas Eve together. Us and Scorpius. And since Teddy knows, and it's only a matter of time before…..I think we should tell him. About...us.” 

It all comes out in a rush, but Harry catches every word, and he’s smiling both at the rare display of nerves from his typically collected companion, and the warmth at the fact that Draco feels ready to bring Harry into his son’s life in that way. They’ve only really been together for a few weeks, but Harry has to admit that it feels like more than that. It feels like a long time coming, more than even the year that they’ve been reunited. 

“I’d love to spend Christmas Eve with you and Scorpius,” he agrees happily, then after a surreptitious glance back into the infirmary he reaches out to touch Draco’s hand, “and we can tell him whenever you’re ready.” 

*****

Their Christmas Eve dinner is a simple but delicious shepherds pie, courtesy of the house elves - since both Harry and Draco are hopeless in the kitchen. They do, however, have some of Draco’s gingerbread biscuits, which are….burnt, but palatable. Harry munches on one sportingly while Scorpius politely declines, looking knowingly at the plate. Harry can’t help but laugh, and Draco only looks mildly insulted. He knows his baking is awful, but still he tries. 

They’ve chatted throughout their meal about all manner of things: the end of term, Scorpius’s classes and his friends, the strange things Draco has seen in the hospital wing this year, Harry’s excitement to see the Weasley clan tomorrow….but they carefully avoid mention of Harry and Draco’s relationship. Scorpius hasn’t asked why exactly Harry has joined them in his father’s quarters for dinner, and they’ve avoided too much contact, as is their habit when it's more than just the two of them. 

It’s when their empty plates vanish from the table and three steaming mugs appear, coffee for Draco and Harry and hot chocolate for Scorpius, that Draco gives Harry a meaningful glance and addresses his son. 

“Scor, I wanted to talk to you about something important tonight, and that’s why Professor Potter...Harry is here.” 

Scorpius raises his eyebrows in an expression that is endearingly identical to Draco’s when he’s interested in something. 

Taking that as an okay to continue, Draco takes a deep breath, “You know that I loved your mum more than anything....and there hasn’t been anyone that I...liked, like that, in a very long time. But I like Harry. I like Harry in the way I liked your mum.”

There’s hardly a beat before Scorpius is grinning and Draco is wilting with relief, “Well that’s good, I suppose, since you’ve been dating for weeks.” 

A bark of laughter bursts unbidden from Harry’s chest and Draco’s eyes widen in shock, “Wait, what?! You knew?”

The full measure of Malfoy sass is in the roll of Scorpius’s eyes, “It’s Hogwarts, everyone knows everything.” 

Well. He isn’t wrong. 

“And are you...okay with that?” It’s Harry that asks this, knowing that Scorpius’s opinion on the matter will be just as important to Draco as the fact that he knows at all. 

“I think it’s great.” He looks at his dad with a soft smile, “You deserve someone that makes you happy.” His eyes follow Harry’s hand as it finally reaches out to cover Draco’s, their fingers lacing loosely together, then fix Harry with a hard look, “I hope you make him happy.” 

It’s sobering, to see the fierce protectiveness and assertive courage in Scorpius’s face, Harry nods somberly, “I’m going to do my best.” And he means it. This has been short and fast with Draco, but it feels big. It feels bigger than just Harry, at least. 

Draco’s face is hard to read, but there’s at least a ghost of a smile at the edge of it. “I love you Scor, “ he says softly, expression melting into an achingly proud smile. 

“I love you too, Dad.” He says it as one might say  _ ‘duh’ _ and Harry chuckles. 

A yelp and chorus of giggles from outside draws all of their attention to the windows, where they can see a group of students near the shore of the lake, ice skating on its frozen surface under the watchful eye of Professor Broadwell. Scorpius’s eyes light up with excitement, “Can I go?!” he crows, already setting his hot chocolate down and getting up from the table. 

Draco considers it for a moment and nods, “Go by your dorm and get your cloak with the warming charms first.” Scorpius nods rapidly, already halfway to the door, “and be careful!” Draco’s call barely makes it out before the door is closed and the boy is gone, off to more exciting adventures. 

“I can’t believe I ever wondered why he went to Gryffindor.” Harry muses, gazing at the door where Scorpius just disappeared. 

Draco scoffs, “Here’s hoping he turns out chivalrous and not just brash.” He’s only half joking. 

Harry looks out the window to where the children are playing for a long moment before turning back to Draco, who is already gazing back at him. “That went well, didn’t it?”

“Yes, well, our apparent lack of subtlety helped, I think.”

They both chuckle at that, chagrined at their own obliviousness but giddy at the freedom of having it out there. This is happening, they are happening, and right at this moment, nothing is in their way. 

Harry can’t resist leaning in to press a kiss to Draco’s lips. He means it to be sure and quick, but Draco grips at the front of his jumper, pulling him ever closer. 

Soft lips move against his, then Draco nips roughly at his bottom lip, sending a wave of arousal through him. Harry groans and presses a hand to Draco’s lower back, straining to bring them closer, despite the awkward angle where they’re seated on the bench.

After another desperate moment, Draco pulls away, extricating himself from the dining table bench and holding a hand out to Harry, a satisfied smirk on his face and pewter eyes alight with need. 

Harry takes his hand and follows eagerly as Draco leads him into the bedroom, allowing himself to be pushed down onto the bed where Draco does things to him that aren’t subtle in the slightest. 

  
  


*****

When Harry opens his eyes on Christmas morning to a merrily crackling fire and a heavy arm draped over his waist, it’s the first time in fourteen years that he doesn’t wake up alone. 

Flashes of the night before come back to him as he gets his bearings and savors the feeling of Draco’s body tucked around his, warm breath ghosting across the back of his neck with the steady even rhythm of peaceful sleep. 

For a moment he’s torn between staying very still to preserve Draco’s peace and shifting around to be able to watch him sleep as the late morning sun peeks in through the windows.

“You’re thinking too loud.” The decision is made for him as Draco’s murmur comes against the back of Harry’s neck, lips brushing his skin and sending a shiver down his spine.

“Sorry.” He grins, turning in Draco arms to get an eyeful of drowsy, rumpled, naked,  _ gorgeous _ blonde. His eyes trail over fair skin, blemished by lovebites on his collar and abdomen, as well as faint white scars, age old injuries from decades past. 

His body is a work of art made by Harry’s own hand, impressions left of the lowest and highest points of their relationship in turn. It makes Harry want to etch those lovebites into his skin deeply enough to outshine and outlive the faded memory of their past. 

He wants it enough that he decides he ought to try, and leans forward to trace the bruise at Draco’s collar with his tongue, nipping at the skin, sucking on it gently. 

A noise tears from Draco’s lips, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and his voice is weak when he speaks. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Potter.” 

Harry smiles against his shoulder and pushes him down into the bed, slotting their hips together and rocking slowly against him, “I don’t intend to.” 

*****

Needless to say, Harry is late by the time he steps out of the floo at the Burrow, and the Weasley’s don’t hesitate to give him hell for it. 

It’s Ginny of course, who blows his careful cover. The hickeys and nail marks have been healed - by an actual healer, even - and his clothing is clean and unrumpled. His hair is….well his hair always looks like he’s fresh from a tumble in the sack, but somehow she can tell. 

He regrets that Ginny Weasley will always and forever be able to see right through him as she crows, “Harry Potter, you’ve gotten laid!” 

Harry’s panicked flush and Ron’s hiss that “There are children here, Ginny!” do nothing to deter her. She simply rolls her eyes and pulls him aside, followed quickly by Hermione, Ron, and, for the love of Merlin, Teddy, who is wearing a wicked smirk that would remind him of an ecstatic Tonks, were he not otherwise engaged. 

“Harry, are you really seeing someone?” It’s Hermione that asks in a whisper, blissfully, though all of the adults in the area are still frustratingly attuned to their conversation. 

“Must I be ‘seeing someone’ to...you know?” The question is barely out there before all four of them snort at him, as if to say ‘ _ yeah, right.’ _

Okay, so maybe there was a time, between divorcing Ginny and taking up the Defense post at Hogwarts, that he’d done quite a bit of...casual dating. It was good for him, really. After all of the distractions he’d dealt with as a teenager, then marriage straight away...there hadn’t been time for him to explore. 

So he explored, and experimented, and he learned. He learned that he liked men as well as women, he learned that he liked chaste intimacy just as well as sex, and he learned that the physical wasn’t as brilliant for him without an emotional connection. 

And he agonized endlessly over each of these lessons with his friends. 

They know very well that he does have to care for someone to sleep with them. And now they’re all looking at him expectantly. 

He looks down at his feet and scuffs the toe of his boot roughly against the ground, trying and failing to fight the smile on his face as he shrugs, “Okay, yes,  _ fine _ , I’m seeing someone.”

“That’s brilliant, mate.” Ron chimes in supportively, clapping him on the back even as Ginny and Hermione continue to look anticipatory.

“Oh, it’s definitely brilliant,” Teddy chimes in knowingly, drawing Hermione’s astute attention. 

“Did you know about this? Who is it?” She rounds on him with a combination of excitement and demanding that reminds Harry distinctly of her ‘getting a marked assignment back’ face from school. 

Teddy grins and catches Harry’s eyes, making a show of his own irises as they fade from the deep green he’s festively coordinated with his ruby red locks to a striking silver that Harry knows intimately. They’re back to green a moment later and Teddy shrugs at Hermione, “Not my secret to tell.” Harry wonders how Teddy made it to maturity without developing the healthy fear of Hermione’s wrath that the rest of them have. 

Her eyes narrow and her gaze shifts back to Harry. He’s never been very good at keeping secrets from Hermione, or Ron and Ginny, for that matter. He opens and closes his mouth, bracing himself for this unplanned reveal.

“It’s Draco Malfoy,” he admits weakly, his giddiness from this morning wiped away and replaced with nervous anticipation of their reactions. 

Ron chokes out a laugh and Harry’s expecting a  _ ‘good one, mate!’ _ when Hermione cuts him off with a thoughtful hum. 

“Well, I didn’t think it could possibly be true when Rose mentioned it, I thought it was just a rumor. You know how rumors spread at Hogwarts.”

Harry’s cheeks flame at that, “Rose mentioned it?”

By now, Ginny’s giggling uncontrollably while Ron gapes, mouth opening and closing as he tries to make sense of the news. 

Hermione smiles comfortingly, though her words are less so. “You did always have a fixation on him, I suppose this isn’t that strange, the tension was always high between you two...” 

Ron manages to catch up in time to agree with his wife, “That’s a good point ‘Mione.” And then he’s laughing along with Ginny, though he fights it off long enough to say “Harry’s dating the ferret, what has the world come to?!”

Ginny doubles over at that, and Harry glares at the lot of them, though something settles within him as he realizes that they’re all okay with it. No outrage, no treating him like he’s confused or bewitched. It’s okay. He’s okay. 

Well, as okay as he can be for a man that has to spend the bulk of his Christmas explaining again for each and every Weasley that yes, he’s dating Malfoy, no, it’s not a joke. 

For what it’s worth, they seem happy for him. Molly even catches him before he leaves to say that she looks forward to seeing him and Draco both at the wedding in May. 

He hugs her tighter than usual, murmuring his thanks into her hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chap is the beginning of the end! I’m so sad!


	16. The Other Shoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay my friends - life happened. This chapter is a bit shorter than most, so you can expect another very soon!

Since their first night together, it’s rare that Harry and Draco spend one apart. They move between their rooms, but are in Draco’s quarters more often than Harry’s, since the proximity to the infirmary isn’t for convenience as much as necessity. Harry can’t complain, really. He likes Draco’s space, and while he isn’t  _ entirely _ sure, he thinks that the rooms have begun to shift, just a little, to incorporate Harry’s preferences as well as Draco’s. 

The formerly empty walls are now home to a series of landscapes, a field of waving grain, a meadow of wildflowers, a vast garden of vegetables with gnomes darting here and there, rolling hills with distant figures looping about on brooms. Each of them remind Harry viscerally of the lands around the Burrow that he explored briefly in his youth and much more thoroughly when Teddy was a child and needed somewhere to expend his boundless energy. 

There is also a new skylight in the bedroom that wasn’t there before, but it gives a lovely window to the stars at night, and the clouds that drift by in the day. It’s there that Harry’s attention rests now, watching the rain beat staccato against the glass, a soothing pitter-patter in the quiet of the morning while Draco snoozes, curled into his side. 

This is becoming the routine. Harry wakes first, he always wakes first - which came as a surprise to him in the beginning, but he’s found that he quite enjoys it. The freedom to watch Draco sleep, to rest in the comfort of his embrace and study the sky. To never wake up alone. 

He’ll lay here for a while, thinking about his day, thinking about life, then he’ll rouse Draco just in time to get a jump on the day...or if Draco wakes early, they’ll get a jump on something else together. 

Today, however, neither of those options run their course. Instead, the now familiar silver cat that is Minerva’s patronus bounds into the room, leaping up onto the foot of their bed and speaking in a voice urgent enough to rouse Draco. 

“Professor Potter, Healer Malfoy, I need to see you both in my office at your very earliest ability, before this morning’s classes.”

Caught between embarrassment that Minerva knew to find them both together at this hour and worry about what she might need them for so urgently, Harry and Draco both dress quickly and make their way up to the Headmistress’s office together. At the top of the stairs, Draco straightens the lapels of Harry’s teaching robes and Harry tucks a loose lock of hair behind Draco’s ear, then they enter. 

The grand office appears empty at first glance, and Harry battles back a wave of paranoid unease - a remnant of his auror career, even all these years later. The fluttering of wings draws their attention to the corner, where Minerva is releasing an owl from her office window, a missive tied to its leg. 

“Good morning, Headmistress.” Harry announces their presence and Minerva turns to them without the slightest hint of surprise. 

“I thank you for your urgency, gentlemen. Please,” she gestures to two chairs sitting opposite her desk, “we have a somewhat delicate matter to discuss.”

Harry sits as instructed, eyes drifting between Minerva and Draco as he does, wondering for a distressing moment if this is about their relationship. Surely there isn’t anything to say that staff can’t be...romantically involved, as Draco had put it. Draco’s eyes stay on Minerva, but once they’re all seated, he rests a pale hand on Harry’s knee, out of the Headmistress’s sight line. 

“I will cut to the chase. I’ve been summoned to London today for a meeting of the board of governors, I expect it will be a long one.” 

Harry nods, this isn’t uncommon. The head teacher isn’t required to attend board meetings, and most of them occur without her, but on occasion they’ll summon Minerva and she’ll have to leave at a moment’s notice. This means that Hogwarts is in Harry’s care while she’s gone...though he still doesn’t understand why that concerns Draco, or what’s so delicate about it. 

Minerva pauses, seeming to be searching for words, in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. 

“It appears…” She hesitates, “You will know this already, Professor Potter, but for Healer Malfoy’s benefit….as the Headmistress of this school, I am free to make hiring decisions on my own volition. I have made every decision regarding Hogwarts and its staff with great care and certainty. It is only when stakeholders of this institution, its students, its staff, or the parents, insist upon it that the Board of Governors is obligated to intervene in the appointment of staff.”

A look of dread has fallen on Draco’s face, and Harry feels cold, but Minerva continues. 

“It appears that several parents have expressed concern regarding the selection of Healer Malfoy as Madam Pomfrey’s successor. The board convenes today to discuss those concerns and determine what action must be taken moving forward.”

Draco nods slowly, his face a mask of nothingness, while indignant anger coils in Harry’s chest, “They can’t ju-”

“Professor-  _ Harry _ , I assure you that I have no intention of letting the outcome of this meeting be detrimental to our school. I will do everything in my power to make the board see reason.” He tries to speak again, but she stops him with a hand, “There is nothing you can do now. I am giving you this information as a courtesy, and now I must go. I will return with news when I am able.” 

He nods sharply, gritting his teeth to keep an outburst at bay, and Minerva moves determinedly to the fireplace where she floos to the ministry without a backward glance. 

“They can’t do this! It’s just- it’s, they can’t! It’s  _ wrong _ ,” Harry fumes once the flames have turned back from green to orange and they’re alone in the headmistress’s office. The portraits on the walls are blissfully quiet as Harry stands from his chair, pacing as his thoughts run into overdrive about who could possibly think that there’s a better option to care for their children than Draco, kind, dedicated,  _ loving _ , Draco. Even if they don’t know him the way Harry does, there’s  _ proof _ of it. The students love him! He’s….he’s still sitting in his chair, gazing blankly at his own hands where they’re folded together in his lap. 

Harry moves to him, dropping to his knees in front of Draco’s chair so he can look up at his face. “It’s going to be okay, she’ll sort them out, she’ll-”

A humorless laugh from Draco stops him short and Draco shakes his head, not meeting Harry’s eyes as he stares at his own hands. “I thought...enough time had passed,” he murmurs, unblinking, “I thought I’d done enough good...that they could see that and move on. I thought I could be something more than the filthy child of death eaters, more than someone who once wanted to follow in their footsteps.” 

The self-loathing that seeps into his voice is enough to tear Harry’s heart to shreds and there are tears prickling at his eyes as he shakes his head, closing his hands around both of Draco’s. “You are,” he breathes, “You’re so much more than that. You’ve worked so hard to make amends, and the board will see that. Minerva will  _ make _ them see how much you’ve changed, how  _ good _ you are.” 

Draco shrugs, but finally meets Harry’s eyes, “But if the parents see me as...the person I was, then it doesn’t matter, they’ll believe what they want to believe about me, and the board will have to take their side.” He sighs heavily, “I suppose I can go back to Mungos...if they’ll still have me.” 

He’s all resigned disappointment and it’s all Harry can do to press a kiss to the back of his hand and fiercely promise him, “We will fight this.” 

A clock on the wall chimes, the front popping open to show a miniature thunderbird that caws the hour at them, and Harry grimaces. 

“We can talk about it later, you have a class to teach.”

Harry shoots a resentful glare at the clock but sighs and stands, pulling Draco up to his feet, refusing to let him wallow. 

“Fine, but come along. I’m teaching the fifth years  _ stupefy _ this morning and it’ll inevitably go wrong. It’ll be good to have you there.”

Draco reluctantly agrees and allows himself to be led to the Defense classroom, collecting himself as they go. 

*****

The rain persists all day and into the night, still coming down in sheets after dinner, and Minerva still hasn’t returned. 

Harry paces restlessly in Draco’s office while the healer himself is tending to a pair of third year boys who had a nasty run-in with a rogue Red Cap earlier in the evening. 

The creatures were plentiful on the grounds around the castle several years back, drawn, as they are, to places where blood has been spilt in battle. They’ve mostly been dispatched by now, so the students aren’t as heavily warned to steer clear of them these days.

Of course, these are third years and Harry himself told them how nasty the buggers are in a lesson earlier this year, going as far as to have them write a paper on the methods used to purify the grounds and prevent them from returning...but he’s too distracted to be annoyed by that. 

He’s so distracted wondering what’s taking the Headmistress so long that her sudden arrival via Draco’s floo has him jumping a meter high in surprise. 

In an instant, Draco has joined them and shut the door, daring to appear only mildly hopeful as he looks to Minerva. 

Her mouth is pulled into a flat line and her eyes are unreadable.

Harry urges his heart rate to slow down and looks expectantly at her, “So?”

She sighs wearily, “I’ve done everything in my power to champion your continued employment at Hogwarts, Draco,” his face falls, taking that as the bad news it sounds like, “It  _ may _ have been enough.”

“What?!” Harry feels hope flicker in him on Draco’s behalf, though his lover still looks doubtful.

“The board hesitates to make a decision of this magnitude without fully investigating the matter.. They would like to hear from you personally, in two weeks' time,” she states with finality. 

It’s a relief to Harry, though Draco only looks queasy. 

Minerva turns to leave, her hand on the doorknob before she turns back and adds, “Oh and Professor Potter, they’ve invited your attendance as well. I advise that you accept, taken as they are with you.” 

And with that, she’s gone.

A hint of nausea clings to Harry as well, but he’s mostly full of relieved determination when he crosses the room to Draco, grips his shoulders and kisses him soundly.

Draco wraps his arms around Harry and rests his head on his shoulder, sighing shakily. “I thought she was about to sack me,” he admits, voice small, wounded. 

Harry squeezes him tighter, pressing a kiss to the skin just below his ear, “No one’s getting sacked. We’re going to fight this. You’re not going anywhere.” 

Too exhausted to argue, Draco just pulls back from Harry and nods, then turns toward his quarters in search of his bed. 


	17. The Brightest Witch of Her Age

The weekend following Minerva’s meeting with the board finds Draco and Harry both up to their ears in reading. Draco has a new novel called  _ Gone Girl _ that makes Harry feel uneasy just from the title, while Harry has taken over Draco’s coffee table with files. 

Since learning that the board is open to hearing Draco’s side of things, Harry has been channeling his inner Hermione and doing any bit of research he can think of to help their situation. Today it’s employee files that he’s lost in; notes and contracts and all manner of paperwork regarding the current and past staff of Hogwarts, from Headmasters to professors to caretakers. He’s not even sure what it is that he’s looking for, precedent of some kind, maybe. He makes note of anything that might help, thinking out loud from time to time and making Draco increasingly frustrated as he does. 

“Even before Dumbledore’s time there were all kinds of issues with the staff,” he muses, getting nary a  _ ‘hmm’ _ from Draco in response. 

“Everything Filch did before the 80s was a nightmare, really…” he mutters, reading back in the file with increasing horror until he has to put it down and reach for another, a name he doesn’t recognize this time. 

“There was a Defense teacher that once took his students  _ looking  _ for werewolves on a full moon, the board didn’t have anything to say about that!”

“Harry.”

“A student nearly got attacked and nothing! No one formally complained at all!”

“Harry.”

“I’m just saying that if parents are going to be upset about something it should be times when their kids are actually in real dang-”

“Harry!” Draco bellows his name and Harry finally stops chattering, peeling his eyes from the distressing file before him to look at Draco’s annoyed expression instead. It wilts a little in the face of Harry’s bewilderment, but Draco shakes his head, “You need to stop. This isn’t helping.”

His chest aches, “It could. It could help.”

A sigh, “But it isn’t going to.”

Harry closes the file and sets it atop the pile, dragging himself from the floor and onto the sofa next to Draco. “I don’t understand why you don’t want to try to defend yourself. I still think that if you’d just let me help-”

“We talked about this, I don’t want you to speak for me.” Draco sets his book aside and runs his fingers through his hair leaving it disheveled in a way that Harry would normally love to see. 

He gazes at hardened grey eyes, knowing that his hurt is plain on his own face, “I don’t understand why.” 

They have, in fact, talked about this. About how without even trying, Harry has the board of governors in his pocket. How that is the kind of thing that he usually  _ hates _ most of all. How he is willing this time, for Draco, to use it to his advantage. Their advantage. He’s willing to play the political game that he otherwise avoids at all costs, but Draco shuts him down each and every time. 

“Why won’t you let me help you?” Harry asks desperately, and he feels even worse at the guilt that stains Draco’s pinched face as he stands from the sofa and begins to pace in front of the fire.

“I don’t want to be a Malfoy,” he whispers, and if Harry wasn’t hanging onto every word like he always is, he would have missed it. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Draco  _ is _ a Malfoy. He’s not his parents, he knows better than their mistakes, but Harry knows that the name still means something to him, changed though he is. 

“You don’t?” is all he can find to whisper back, lost, confused. 

Draco paces faster, hands coming back to his hair and tugging at it in frustration. “I don’t, I  _ don’t _ want to be the person that resorts to manipulation to have things go my way. I don’t want to run to you to protect me like I ran to my father when I was a child. I don’t want to only keep this job, this perfect,  _ amazing _ job, because  _ you _ have political capital to sacrifice for it, or have dug up some precedent to throw at them. I don’t want them to make a decision based on who I’m  _ screwing!”  _

His whisper has gradually escalated to a yell, and Harry feels the last of it like a slap to the face, though he isn’t sure if it hurts more that Draco would call their relationship such a meaningless word or that he doesn’t want Harry to stand up for him. 

Draco falls silent, watching Harry uneasily for a reaction to his outburst. Harry restrains himself from snapping back, he doesn’t want to fight. Not now. He simply thinks about it for a moment, then another, then “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

Harry sighs and stands, moving to Draco and taking both of his hands to still them where they nervously fidget with the cuff of his robes. “Okay.” He repeats, “I get it. I mean, I don’t  _ get _ it, but I realize now why it bothers you. I won’t...I won’t say anything to them if you don’t want me to.”

Draco deflates against Harry’s shoulder, leaning bodily upon him for support as the tension drains out of him. “The board will side with the parents, and they’re right to. I will respect that. As a healer to these children, I have to. As a father, I  _ have to. _ ”

“I just don’t want you to go,” Harry murmurs into his jaw, and he pushes back the tears threatening at the thought. 

“I know.” Draco wraps arms around him tightly and sighs shakily, “I don’t want to leave.” 

  
  


*****

  
  


Harry spends half of the next week reflecting on their conversation. Draco doesn’t want his help, but only because he doesn’t want to do things the same way his father did, he doesn’t want to use his connections with people to achieve his ends - that, more than anything, is a sign of how far he’s come. Harry might argue it’s a little too far...he finds himself wishing that Draco could adopt just the slightest bit of ‘the ends justify the means’ attitude his old house is known for. 

Instead, Harry decides to channel his own Slytherin side. He knows there’s a way to both respect Draco’s wishes  _ and _ give him the best shot at showing the board that he deserves this job. 

So as his 7th years delve into research for their thesis proposals - they have to identify a curse and countercurse pair, then tell him everything there is to know about them - he leaves them to work independently and heads to London late on Wednesday afternoon.

Harry knows the Ministry of Magic like the back of his hand, which means he’s able to slip straight from the floo into a service corridor and sneak his way around the atrium rather than walking through it and inevitably being stopped by a dozen or more people, be they old colleagues, former classmates, or really just anyone. 

Today there isn’t time for visiting except with the one person he’s here to see: Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger-Weasley. It’s a stroke of luck, really that she’s free to talk to him, particularly with her bid for Minister underway, Hermione seems to be eternally busy, which quite suits her, really. 

As it is, the eager young wizard at the desk outside of her office waves Harry in, letting him know that she’s just tucking into a late lunch. 

He pokes his head in first, grinning as he watches the spectrum of annoyance, surprise, and excitement cross her face before he enters completely.

“Harry!” she cries through a mouthful of sandwich, and he can’t help but chuckle, sliding into the seat across from her desk, “What a nice surprise,” she continues after swallowing. “I haven’t seen you in the Ministry in ages.”

He shrugs sheepishly, “Not a lot of cause to be here aside from you. Plus I have to be careful to avoid the DMLE, lest they either hex me or ask me to come back.” She looks mildly disapproving at that sentiment, but he’s mostly joking. Mostly. It’s not every day the Ministry offers someone Head Auror only for them to quit the job entirely. He still feels a little bad about it, but not nearly enough to consider returning...even if they would still have him after more than a decade. 

“That’s not what I heard.”

He looks at her quizzically as she sips a glass of water and then shoots him the know-it-all smirk that he’s known since age 11. 

“I heard that the Hogwarts Board of Governors has reserved a ministry meeting room this weekend, for the second time in a month, mind you, and they’re all atwitter about the new Deputy Headmaster’s attendance.” Her grin is a mix of teasing and proud. 

“Does anything happen in this building without you knowing about it?” he asks with a laugh. 

Hermione hums thoughtfully, chewing another bite of sandwich. “Hardly,” she settles on. 

Harry chuckles again and then sobers, looking down at his hands and back up to Hermione, “The board meeting is why I’m here, actually.”

“Not just to see my smiling face?” She asks with a haughty sarcasm that both amuses Harry and makes him feel guilty for not making more of an effort. He resolves to visit more for the sake of visiting. 

He proceeds to explain the situation with the parents, the board, and Draco, including the fact that Draco has asked him not to use his influence to manipulate their decision. Hermione listens carefully, a frown creasing her face and drawing her eyebrows together. 

She snorts indignantly, “Well that’s ridiculous, Malfoy is an excellent healer. The head of St. Mungo’s himself recommended him to me for Hugo’s accident last year.”

“I know he is, but the complaints still stand and we- Hold on. You know the head of St. Mungo’s.” An idea strikes him, and his face lights up as Hermione nods tentatively. “I need a favor. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important but ‘Mione...this is really important to me.”

Hermione looks ready to dismiss him off hand but her face softens after a moment, “You really care about him a lot.”

“I really do.”

“I thought he didn’t want you using your influence to help him.” She states pointedly, though she’s already pulling a blank piece of parchment out to draft a letter. 

“I’m not. I’m using  _ your _ influence,” he grins and she rolls her eyes at him, addressing the paper in front of her and looking back up. 

“What do you need?”

“His patients, a list of names, that’s all. I don’t need to know about their treatments or illnesses or anything like that, just the names,” he says quickly, the excitement of having a new lead to follow up on getting to him. 

She frowns again, but writes out the request, agreeing to send it out before her next meeting, then she studies him for a moment. “You know, you could be very good at this. Politics. When it’s something you’re passionate about. You might not want to use your influence for Draco, but you do have influence, Harry. It would be a shame to waste it.” 

For some reason this stirs Minerva’s voice in Harry’s head, telling him ‘ _ you have quite a bit to offer our school.’  _ He shrugs, but then looks up at his friend, whose warm brown eyes are still gazing at him intently. “Hermione, what do you know about wizarding guardianship and custody laws?” 

This seems to surprise her, but she wouldn’t be Hermione if she couldn’t pivot at a moment’s notice. “It’s very complicated, actually, but I can give you some references.”

“Sounds perfect.”


	18. The Board of Governors

The second half of Harry’s week is spent earnestly preparing for the meeting of the board, something he feels much more hopeful about after seeking Hermione’s assistance. 

Draco, however, steadily declines in mood as the days pass, until finally it’s Saturday morning and he’s snapped at Harry for everything from hogging the covers to handing him a cup of tea that’s too hot.

“I’m sorry!” Harry finally snaps back, “I know you’re nervous about today but you don’t need to take it out on me!”

Draco glares at him, “I’m not  _ nervous _ about the bloody meeting,” he grumbles, “If you’d bothered to be around at all this week you would know that.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

An aggravated sigh and Draco pushes the too hot mug of tea away from him, his hands gripping the edge of the table like he’s trying to keep a hold of himself. “You’ve been off in the library, or the owlery, or Minerva’s office, or bloody  _ London _ all week when this could be-” he cuts himself off with great effort.

Harry, more observant than in his younger years - thankfully - senses that they’re approaching the root of the matter. “This could be what?” he asks softly, reaching over the table to rest his hands over Draco’s, white knuckled at the edge of the table. 

They relax, but pull away from Harry’s. 

“This could be our last week together.” He tells the tabletop gruffly, refusing to meet Harry’s gaze. “I thought you might want to spend it….together.”

It hits Harry like a suckerpunch that he’s been so focused on keeping Draco here at Hogwarts that he hasn’t taken the time to appreciate the fact that he’s still here for now. He gets up to round the table and slides onto the bench beside Draco, turning to look at him apologetically, “I’m sorry I’ve been so absent this week,” he begins, “but Draco…” it’s filled with the hope that he’s desperately clinging to, “this isn’t our last week together. The board will see how much you’ve changed, what a good man you are. I know they will.”

“And if you’re wrong? I know you believe it’ll go our way, Harry, I know that. But if you’re  _ wrong _ . We haven’t even talked about...what happens if I go back to London? What happens to us?” At least he’s not talking at the table anymore, but his grey eyes are wide and panicked and his brow is furrowed with worry.

Harry tilts his head, confusion plain on his face, “What happens to us?” Then it hits him, Draco isn’t nervous about the meeting, he’s not frustrated because the tea is too hot or he got cold last night or even because Harry has been busy...he’s nervous that being separated now will be the end of them. “Draco,” he smiles softly, “If you go back to London then we make it work. You can come here and I can go there, and we’ll hardly notice the difference.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to…” he’s speaking to the table again, and Harry is able to see it as the rare show of vulnerability that it is. 

“To put in a little extra effort for the best thing in my life right now?” He teases, and Draco looks beyond relieved even as a flush creeps over his face. “We’ve got magic, you dunderhead. This won’t change anything about  _ us _ .”

Draco composes himself in a beat, reaches out to sip his now cooled tea and nods once. “Well. Good, then.” 

“Right.” Harry laughs, reaching across the table for his own tea but staying firmly planted at Draco’s side. 

*****

The Ministry atrium is bewilderingly empty when they arrive. Since he’s here on official Hogwarts business, Harry has to fight the urge to sneak into the back corridors, but the crowd he typically tries to avoid is nowhere to be seen. 

He realizes belatedly that it is Saturday, and while he worked in the Auror office seven days a week, most Ministry departments are closed on Saturdays. It eases his tension the slightest bit. At least he doesn’t have to worry about being mobbed on top of everything else. 

Minerva stands in the wide open space, alone save for the security wizard between them and the lifts. She greets them with a tense, “Good morning, gentlemen,” that betrays her own nerves before turning to pass through security and board the lift. 

File of documents tucked tightly under one arm and his hand swinging close enough to brush against Draco’s as they walk, Harry follows Minerva as she directs them to the Minister’s conference room, where the door is closed, and chatter from within tells them that the board has already convened. 

Minerva raps sharply on the door twice, then opens it without waiting for a response and enters. Harry moves to follow her, pausing only when he realizes that Draco has frozen to his place in the corridor. 

“It’s going to go our way.” He murmurs confidently into Draco’s ear, then places a hand on his lower back to guide him to the door. Draco allows himself to be nudged, shakes his head once as if to rid any negative thoughts, then straightens his spine and enters with Harry on his heels. 

They find themselves in a long narrow conference room. A heavy wooden table fills the space with probably twenty large chairs around it. The walls are devoid of any decoration at all, though an elaborate chandelier floats above the table, without any hint of a chain or cord to hold it to the high ceiling. 

As Harry glances around the room he sees faces staring at him. Some of them look vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place a single one of them by name. He can tell by their expressions that they all recognize him. He’s used to that, but today he feels a rare twinge of unease at it. 

He settles in the chair beside Draco, closest to the door, and offers a tight smile to the faces that continue to peer at him. After a moment, a woman with a sweet laugh-lined face and hair that is more white than grey speaks up. 

“Thank you for joining us, Headmistress, Deputy Headmaster, Healer Malfoy.” She nods at each of them in turn then gestures at the eleven other governors, “I believe introductions may be in order, as we all know who you are, but you may not know us.” Her voice is just this side of cheerful, and Harry finds himself comforted by that, as though this is just a meeting and not a hearing of sorts to decide Draco’s fate. 

“I am Magda Clearwater, my granddaughter is a student at Hogwarts.” The woman introduces herself and Harry recognizes the name, nods pleasantly, then turns to the next. They go around the table, each giving their name and a tidbit about themselves, that they work for the Ministry, or Gringotts, or own a business in Diagon Alley. Like their faces, Harry recognizes a few of their names but not all of them. 

When they’ve finished, Magda speaks again, “We are here, as you know, to evaluate the appointment of Draco Malfoy as chief Healer at Hogwarts. We have been approached by parents of several current Hogwarts students with concerns about leaving their children in Healer Malfoy’s care. The Headmistress has provided her perspective at length, and we have received and reviewed a letter of recommendation from Poppy Pomfrey. We would like to hear from Healer Malfoy himself, and from Professor Potter, as a future administrator of Hogwarts.”

Expectant faces turn first to Harry rather than Draco, and Harry can hear his own heart beating in his ears. He so desperately wants to open his mouth and speak his mind, come to Draco’s defense, but he holds his tongue, placing faith in his own plan, and hoping that Draco will say something, anything to fight for his job. He turns his own expectant gaze to Draco, barely refraining from squeezing his knee under the table in support. 

Draco is sitting up very straight in his chair, his face pale - paler than usual - but he clears his throat and nods once, “I thank you, governors, for the opportunity to speak with you. My name is Draco Malfoy, and I am a healer to children. I am also the parent of a child currently enrolled at Hogwarts. I tell you this to show that despite the name that I carry, and the ill legacy connected to that name, I am not so different from the rest of the people at this table. I have made choices in the past that I bear shame for, but I have spent the last decade striving to make amends by healing more people than I have hurt.” His voice wavers for just a moment, but he takes a breath and then continues, “It is a privilege and an honor to work at Hogwarts. That said, I respect that you each have a responsibility to the students we serve and their parents-”

And just like clockwork, there’s a frantic tapping against the frosted glass of the door, cutting Draco off and drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Eyebrows raised in shock and confusion, Magda flicks her wand and the door swings open, letting in a large barn own. He swoops in and drops a letter in the middle of the table, and then comes another, and another. Owls swoop in and out in a parade of feathers and parchment and indignant squawking until the dust settles, and probably four dozen letters are piled up on the table. 

Harry struggles to keep the grin off his face at the confused looks from the board. A man in the middle - Edgecomb, was it? - reaches out to pluck a letter from the pile at random, and opens it before reading, “ _ To the board of governors, I write to express my confidence in the abilities of Draco Malfoy as Hogwarts’s healer. His treatment of my child earlier this year was second to none…” _ He trails off, looking up and around at the other board members, who each reach for the letter nearest them and open it, reading the highlights in turn. 

Draco’s jaw has dropped, his careful countenance disrupted as he listens in shock to the words of parents filling the room, parents of past, present, and future Hogwarts students, telling tales of his caring treatment of their children, of young lives he has saved, breaks he has mended, fears he has quelled. If he didn’t know better, Harry might say that Draco’s eyes are wet by the time Magda gasps at the contents of one letter, covering her hand with her mouth in surprise then peeling it away to read.

“ _ Healer Malfoy has provided exceptional treatment to my son and daughter, both during his service at St. Mungo’s and in his time at Hogwarts School. His skill and professionalism in his field are rivaled only by his commitment to treat the most vulnerable of our community with respect and care. There are scarce few to whom I would sooner entrust the safety of my children.  _

_ -Hermione J. Granger-Weasley, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.” _

Harry knows in that moment that the board has been swayed. He says a silent thanks to Hermione, for using her own mountains of political capital when Harry cannot use his own, and without even being asked. Harry wrote to dozens of parents, but Hermione wasn’t one of them. She elected to participate on her own. 

The room is filled with overlapping chatter for a moment, until Magda claps a time or two to gather the room’s attention. “I think that… I believe that we would like to take a few moments to discuss this development, unless you have anything to add, Healer Malfoy, Professor Potter?” She looks at them kindly, though the shock hasn’t gone from her face. 

Draco shakes his head silently and Harry shrugs, unable to help the tiny smile that crosses his face, “I think the parents have said it all.”

Magda nods at Harry, who stands and leads the way from the room, closely followed by Draco and Minerva. 

They congregate in the corridor and the door swings closed behind them, a lack of muffled voices from within suggesting that a silencing charm has been cast as well. 

And then they wait. 

Harry expects the board to deliberate for a while, he presses close to Draco’s side, a comforting arm around his waist, not caring if Minerva is there to see it. She knows - probably more than she should - about their relationship already. She does little but stand stoically on the other side of the corridor, face pinched, hinting that she’s nearly as anxious as they are. 

Draco’s face is carefully blank, hands clasped in front of him and his eyes trained on the floor. He won’t look at Harry, and Harry might be concerned that he’s angry with him for the stunt with the owls, but the way that even now he leans bodily into Harry’s shoulder is a reassurance. 

Surprisingly it’s only a few moments of quiet before the door swings open again and Magda calls for them to return. 

The governors sit around the table with unreadable faces, and Harry finds himself musing that he should never agree to play poker with the board of governors, because they give up nothing in their expressions. 

When everyone is settled again, Magda addresses them. 

“We thank you again for your time, and for your dedication to Hogwarts. As you know it is our duty to listen to the concerns and opinions of the parents of Hogwarts students. We have investigated this matter to the fullest extent and have unanimously come to a decision. In our authority as the Board of Governors for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we do hereby  _ reaffirm _ the appointment of Draco Malfoy as Chief Healer. You have our thanks, and our support, Healer Malfoy.”

Her previously blank face has morphed into a kind smile by the end, and Harry’s heart soars as he turns to Draco.

There’s a moment that he doesn’t seem to comprehend the verdict, then suddenly joy and relief spread unadulterated across his face, his color returning and tingeing his cheeks pink as he lets out a weak laugh. It’s all Harry can do to stop himself from thoroughly kissing him right then and there. 

After a moment he clears his throat and casts a glance around the table, stopping on Magda who seems to be in charge for all intents and purposes. “Thank you for your support. I will do everything in my power to continue to earn it.” He speaks formally, hands still folded in his lap and back straight as a board, but the smile just won’t go away. 

Everyone rises and the following moments are filled with handshaking and murmured words of thanks, and congratulations, and apologies for the inconvenience and all number of relevant platitudes, then Draco, having spoken briefly to each governor moves to leave, turning back in confusion when Harry doesn’t follow and Magda speaks again.

“Now, we understand that the Deputy Headmaster has a matter he’d like to discuss whilst we are already convened.” At her words, the governors settle back into their seats and Draco looks at Harry with curiosity and confusion.

“I’ll explain later. Meet you back at the castle?”

Draco narrows his eyes but nods once, squeezing Harry lightly on the arm before taking his leave. 

Harry reclaims his chair and opens his file of notes, before launching into the proposal he has prepared for the board. 

  
  


*****

Before he knows it, Harry is spinning through green flames and stumbling out of the floo into Draco’s office. He barely has a moment to peek his head out into the infirmary before he’s wrapped in an embrace of strong arms and emerald robes and then Draco kisses him, right then and there in the open space of the hospital wing for anyone to see. Harry grips at his robes and kisses him back, finding that he really doesn’t care who sees, or what rumors they might be confirming. 

“Harry James Potter, I told you I didn’t want you speaking for me,” Draco finally scolds, though the fondness in his voice is almost overpowering. 

Harry laughs, “I didn’t say a word!”

Draco pulls away to look at him, “Those letters though, that was you.” 

“That was the parents. Telling the truth about what they think of you.” And it was. Harry wrote to the parents, yes, but only to ask them to be honest, to share their real experiences. “It was you that said the board would side with the parents. I just gave them a nudge to see what side the parents were really on,” he grins. 

“Very Slytherin of you,” Draco teases, pulling him in to kiss him again before pulling back promptly, eyebrows furrowed, “What was all of that about, after?”

Harry grimaces and fiddles with the edge of Draco’s green robes - Harry’s very favorite set. The second half of the meeting had gone well, but there was a lot of work to be done, policies to figure out, and the board was adamant that it be kept under-wraps.

“I can’t tell you yet,” he admits, which has Draco’s eyebrows shooting up in interest. “It’s not anything to worry about, trust me,” he tacks on. 

Draco smiles, private and soft, sighing contentedly, “I do trust you,” he confides, gazing at Harry all warmth and honesty. “I love you, actually.” 

Harry responds with a sharp intake of breath and a look of wonder, “I love you, too.” 

The soft exchange is punctuated by a giddy laugh from them both and they fall back together, kissing sweetly, enthusiastically, then passionately, and Harry tightens his grip on Draco’s robes, dragging him through the office to the door to Draco’s quarters. 

His magic thrums as Draco’s wards easily shift to accept him, and then they’re stumbling into the sitting room unable to take their hands off one another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t have our boys be unhappy for too long. Stay tuned for another chapter and an epilogue full of fluff.


	19. The Wedding of the Decade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re almost to the end! <3

May brings a flurry of activity as the students fall into rigorous revising schedules, and the teachers strive to cover the last of the content, return the last of the marking, and ensure that the last few weeks before exams don’t cause more stress and strife than due. 

In a welcome break from all of the madness, Harry finds himself once again at the Burrow, standing under a massive white tent and thousands of fairy lights that float over the gardens, illuminating the crowd. It's a familiar sight, but also all at once brand new. 

He stands at the edge of the dance floor, watching as Teddy, looking just like his father with honey colored eyes and tawny brown hair, spins a beaming Victorie around in circles, the two of them so full of happiness that Harry thinks anyone who looks for too long might just burst from it. It brought tears to his eyes, to see the man he raised from an infant stand here and marry Victoire, the love of his life, in the very place that her parents were married more than twenty years ago. 

Unlike that night, when the ministry fell, the beginning of the end of the war, tonight had only happiness, only peace, and joy, and love in every corner. It’s hard for Harry to even believe that he is the same person that stood under this tent at seventeen, prepared to walk to his death, only to see so many people he cared about beat him there. He thinks about Remus and Tonks, who can’t be here to see their son on this night that will be one of the happiest of his life. 

His mind strays unbidden to the resurrection stone, for not the first time in the last two decades he considers what it would be like to remove it from its secure storage place in his vault at Gringotts, and use it for Teddy, to let him see his parents, to speak to them, to let them see the man he’s become. Maybe even to see the man that he’s helped Harry to become, by depending on him. 

The thoughts are dark and out of place, he knows there’s a reason the stone has been untouched since the days after the war when he stowed it away. He knows it leads to only heartbreak, despite its pulling allure. 

An arm slips around his waist, and like the lighting of a candle, the cold, dark thoughts in Harry’s head flicker away as he turns to see Draco at his side, offering him a glass of fizzing gillywater cocktail. 

He takes it with a grateful smile and thanks him, for more than just the drink. 

“Alright?” Draco asks into his ear, and Harry leans against him.

“Yeah,” he answers, still gazing at Teddy and Victoire as they finish their first dance and a spattering of other guests join them on the dance floor. 

They sip quietly at their drinks for a moment before Draco speaks again, 

“I think the Weasleys have adopted my son. I’ve just seen him almost certainly  _ scheming _ with Rose and...Charlie?”

Harry laughs and nods, sipping half of his drink in one go as he turns to his partner, “Well he is a Gryffindor, after all.” The Weasley’s had taken Scorpius in stride with even more ease than they had with Draco. His tales of hijinks at school - which Harry carefully did not hear - had endeared most of them to him in a flash, and he was enamored with Charlie of course, since tales of dragons are second to very little in the eyes of a young wizard, especially one who loves magical creatures. 

“And Molly Weasley’s just told me that I need a haircut,” Draco adds thoughtfully, ignoring the Gryffindor comment. 

Harry takes both of their glasses and sets them aside, pulling Draco onto the dance floor even as he pins him with a very somber look. 

“I’m afraid to tell you...that means you’ve been adopted as well. Next she’ll start trying to fatten you up.” 

Draco can’t hide the pleased smile that plays at his lips, valiant though his efforts are. 

“Worse things have happened,” he declares loftily, deftly spinning Harry in a lazy circle and easily compensating for the fact that Harry cannot, in fact, dance. 

Harry just chuckles and hangs in for the ride as they dip and swirl and he manages to keep his foot stomping to a minimum. 

Victoire appears at their side a few moments later, the vision of elation in her stunning white dress and unfailingly bright smile. “Can I cut in? I want a spin with the best dancer at the party.” 

She gestures to Draco who looks shocked and then immediately smug, “Who am I to deny a bride on her wedding day?” he asks, taking her hand and spinning her away. Harry watches them for a moment, chuckling, before Teddy appears at his side, a conspiratorial grin on his face. 

“You sent her to steal my date away?” 

Teddy shrugs, “I wanted a moment with my godfather. And she deserves a little time with a dance partner that can keep up with her.”

“Yes, well it’s going to go straight to his head,” Harry says fondly, watching for another minute as Draco and Victorie spin around the dance floor, chattering rapidly in French, then turning to look at Teddy.

It hits him again how much like Remus he looks tonight, and he smiles sadly at his godson. “Your parents would be so proud of you,” he murmurs softly, “They knew how important it is to reach out and take what happiness you can in this world.” 

Teddy smiles bashfully and tilts his head at Harry, “I think they’d be proud of us both.” 

Harry’s heart aches with love for this brilliant boy that he’s somehow managed to help grow into a good man. “I think you’re right.” 

Teddy hugs him tightly and Harry doesn’t even try to hide his sniffle as he returns the embrace with all the love and happiness he has for his godson. 

And then Teddy is swept away by well wishers and the music shifts to something upbeat and energetic. 

“Professor!” A familiar voice crows from behind him and he turns to see Charis Hadley - his Gryffindor quidditch captain who graduated last year. 

He smiles pleasantly at her, “Hi Charis, how are you?” 

“I’m great! First season has been a success so far, I’m having a blast.” 

Charis was scouted by the Ballycastle Bats right out of school and has been playing as the youngest chaser the team’s ever seen. From what Harry’s followed, she’s been very successful so far - and he isn’t surprised. 

“That’s fantastic, congratulations. Maybe I’ll be able to catch a match this summer.”

She grins at him knowingly, “I heard through the grapevine that you’re not going to have much free time this summer...something about...camp?”

Harry starts in surprise, “How do you know about that?”

Charis just laughs and saunters away onto the dance floor where Louis Weasley - all of sixteen years old and far too suave for his own good - sweeps her into a dance of manic jumping around. 

“Oi, that’s a secret until it’s finalized, Hadley!” he calls after her, shaking his head in exasperation until he realizes that Draco has materialized beside him once more and looks deeply scandalized. 

“Until  _ what  _ is finalized, exactly? Does she know about your secret project when I don’t?!” he asks petulantly. 

Harry smiles guiltily at him and holds out a hand, Draco takes it and allows himself to be led from under the tent to find a bench to settle on at the edge of the garden. A rogue gnome leaps from beneath it and scurries off into the rhododendron as they sit. 

“So I’ve been working on something big,” he starts, fiddling with the lapels of his dress robes while Draco watches him, face receptive and open. “I’ve been involved for a long time with the students who don’t have homes, real homes, outside of Hogwarts. I was one of them, you know? Dreading the end of term because of what life in the interim was like for me.” There’s already the hint of a proud smile on Draco’s face and he nods for Harry to go on.

“Minerva said something to me, before I even took the deputy job, about making Hogwarts a better place for the students, and this is my way of doing that. She and I have been working with the board to start a Hogwarts summer program for the students that don’t have anywhere else to go. They’ll stay at the castle, and since most of them are muggleborn, we’ll teach them about life in the wizarding world, the things they don’t learn in their classes, like career options and other magic communities.” He pauses, looking down at his knees, then up at Draco who is fully grinning now, “We’re almost there, we just have a few more details to figure out before the board signs off.”

“Harry, that’s amazing.” And the look on his face tells Harry that he means it. 

Harry shrugs, smiling sheepishly, “You wouldn’t let me use my  _ political capital _ on you, but I ought to use it for something, right?”

Draco nods firmly, “Right. You’ve chosen a worthy cause. It’s very  _ you. _ ” His face is filled with adoration that overwhelms Harry - he’s sure he doesn’t deserve it, but Draco gives it unreservedly anyway. After a moment, his forehead creases and he tilts his head, “What details are you still working on? I can try to help.”

A bubble of nervous laughter works its way from Harry’s diaphragm and he twiddles his thumbs for a moment before meeting Draco’s gaze, “We need a healer. And I know that you probably want to spend the summer with Scorpius, the two of you haven’t been back to London in a really long time, so I understand if you want to be at home, and Poppy might be willing-” 

He’s cut off as Draco leans into him and drops a quick kiss onto his lips, grinning as he pulls away. “Scorpius and I  _ have _ been away from London for a while….though he has been invited to spend the summer with the Scamanders in Brazil. How I ever managed to produce a future magizoologist I can’t possibly be sure.”

Harry can’t help but grin, his nervousness settling enough for him to tease, “What with your fear of hippogriffs and all.”

“Watch it, Potter,” He says, borderline dangerously, then throws on a tone of careful nonchalance as he continues, “I do suppose I might get quite lonely in that big flat all by myself….and I’ve heard that the Defense professor is rather fit.”

“Hmm, I can vouch for that last,” Harry agrees, grinning stupidly and leaning into Draco.

“Arrogant prick.”

“You seemed to quite like my prick the othe-” 

Draco kisses him swiftly, laughing into his mouth as he does before pulling back just far enough to hiss, “You’ll scar the children,” lips brushing against Harry’s as he does.

Harry chuckles softly as they spend a moment simply sharing the air between them. 

“So you’ll do it?” Harry asks eventually.

“Of course I will, you brilliant moron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t resist wrapping up a fic with a wedding. Just a little epilogue after this.


	20. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking through my sporadic posting whims and reading this as we go, y'alls comments have been so sweet and encouraging. Here's a last little dose of fluff for you, until next time <3

A summer breeze drifts lazily through the quidditch stands, wrapping around Harry and Draco, cooling the sweat beading on their necks. A sweet bubble of laughter rings in the air as the snitch flits by their box, undetected by either team’s seeker. 

Harry smiles over at Dean and Seamus, the pair of them bracketing a totally enamored Lottie on the other side of the bench. It’s her first quidditch match, according to Seamus. Before today she’s never seen any sport other than football, having been indoctrinated into the muggle sport since birth. Dean never did let go of his love for West Ham football. 

Her black hair spills wildly over her shoulders as she bounces up and down on her toes, her 8-year-old enthusiasm at watching a golden snitch flit about for the first time drawing adoration from all four of the grown men around her. 

Harry’s first Hogwarts summer term is well underway, and he’s inclined to believe that it’s going swimmingly. Seventeen students are enrolled in the summer program. Fourteen of them muggleborn, two half-bloods, and a single pureblood. Among them are students that Harry knows well from the Christmases he’s spent with them at the castle, and a few that he doesn’t. The majority are those that don’t have a good home to return to, but several are simply here to continue to learn. 

Notably, both Elliot Collins and Violet Warrington are among the summer students. They spend quite a bit of time together, heads bowed over some book or another, or playing gobstones in the courtyard. Harry’s not sure what’s going on there exactly - but he’s interested to watch it develop. 

Their lessons consist very little of performing magic, but are geared towards learning more about living in the magical world beyond their years at school, a crucial part of their education that has been overlooked up until now. Most interestingly for the students, very few of their lessons are given by an actual Hogwarts teacher. Throughout the summer they’ll see a staggering variety of past students and teachers with interesting stories to tell or trades to teach. 

Draco brought in former colleagues from Mungo’s to talk about healing on one day, Charlie Weasley made a visit with a baby dragon in tow on another. Today, Seamus spent the morning sharing about the possibilities of living in both worlds, muggle and magic. Tomorrow, Dean has plans for a dueling exercise - one much better organized than Lockhart and Snape’s version - before he and Seamus return to Dublin, and next week Hermione will take the time to speak about the Ministry - particularly the role of witches and wizards of all blood statuses in rebuilding it after the second wizard war. 

The lessons aren’t everything, of course, they have only one of those each weekday, but are mostly allowed free time to do as they please. Meals are spent together around one large table in the same room as the Christmas feast, and most days there are additional supervised activities for the students to participate in, like diving in the lake to see the giant squid, roasting marshmallows around a bonfire on the grounds, or scouting for fairies in the forest at twilight. 

Today, Harry has organized a quidditch friendly, the students divided into two teams made up of all houses and years, while a rising 6th year Hufflepuff referees, and a pair of 4th year twin sisters, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, keep score and commentate in a rousingly irrelevant fashion that rivals even Luna’s performance. 

It’s a chance for students who’ve never had the opportunity to play, and provides a little entertainment for the handful of staff still on grounds while they’re at it. 

It’s certainly nice for Harry and Draco, as they sit on the bench in the staff box, huddled close together despite the heat. It’s no secret anymore that they’re together, especially not with the students that have stayed the summer. It isn’t so uncommon to see the two of them walking the grounds hand in hand, and if one sneaks quietly enough into the infirmary on a Sunday afternoon, one might be able to sneak a peek of the healer and the Defense teacher sharing a chaste kiss over lunch in Draco’s office. 

Harry’s attention strays from the game to Dean and Seamus again, their own attention divided between the game, their daughter and each other, and he finds that the pang of jealousy that used to simmer in him isn’t there anymore. 

He mentions this to Draco later as they lay in bed in what is now  _ their _ quarters. “I used to ache with how much I wanted what they have. What Ron and Hermione have with each other, and Rose and Hugo...what Ginny and I could have had.” 

Draco sets aside the copy of  _ Incendio Effect _ , his most recent mystery novel, which he’s taken to reading aloud to Harry as they laze about, avoiding the heat. He cards his fingers through Harry’s messy hair and hums. “A family?” he asks quietly, somehow knowing exactly what Harry means, like he usually does. 

“Yeah.” 

“And now?” The question is tentative and Harry sits up, turning so he can face Draco where he reclines against the headboard. 

“The ache is gone,” he says resolutely, green eyes wide and honest. “I have Teddy, and you, and Scorpius, and all these kids.” He gestures vaguely towards the door, meaning to indicate all of the students that remained this summer. “It’s not what I expected, but…”

“It’s all I could have ever wanted,” Draco finishes, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Harry’s against cool silk sheets. 

“Yeah.” 

And it’s true. Maybe it isn’t the family he pictured, and maybe he never did get to have children of his own...but he  _ does _ have children of his own, children that depend on him, even aside from the one he actually raised. 

He remembers standing in his old quarters two years ago, trying to convince himself that he could never be lonely at Hogwarts. Now he can admit to himself that he was lonely, even at Hogwarts, but only for a little while. Only long enough to lead him here. 

Harry shuffles in the bed, tugging at Draco’s knees until he can place himself between them and lean forward to kiss him languidly. They’ll get married, maybe, or they won’t, but he knows that Draco isn’t going anywhere, and that he’s not either. 

Hogwarts won’t be lonely. 

Never again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where we leave our boys <3 Thanks again for sticking through it to the end. I have got more Drarry in the works for the future, so don't be a stranger! Feel free to poke me on tumblr, where I am also rinnwrites. 
> 
> ALSO: Thank you thank you to the GWB Discord server for being endlessly supportive and just all around wonderful people <3


End file.
